


days that did not repeat

by Coordinator



Category: Lobotomy Corporation (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Multi, Vignette Collection, for character tags the gangs all here, so sit back with an unopened can of wellcheers and enjoy the show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 69,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22189426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coordinator/pseuds/Coordinator
Summary: A series of unconnected and loosely connected vignettes, relating to the entities, abnormalities, and moments that make up your favourite underground power supplier. Rating and content may vary from chapter to chapter, please see author's notes.
Comments: 52
Kudos: 64





	1. and she said, 'no more light, turn the damn thing off'

He had lasted precisely one hour, one minute, one second, and eight eighths of...  
  
Well, it didn't _really_ matter. She'd told herself several times over that she couldn't even feel disgust, and by this point she _almost_ believed it.  
Almost, however, was an awful sort of word. The kind of word that usually begat promises, and promises, well...  
  
The tap of her feet echoed; thunder in a close ecosystem. The time track would reset, soon, and the first thing she'd say, was -  
  


* * *

  
\- "Ya ever wonder why he just sits there? Floats there, I mean. Damn thing looks like it could use a trellis."  
  
"It can't use a trellis, T. Trellises are far plants. Skulls are not plants."  
  
"Says you..."  
  
Outside the containment unit, he could discern conversations. No, he could discern conversations all over the facility; for conversations were a kind of sin, and absolution, all-in-one.  
But it was not his role to judge, but to listen - perhaps to punish, as he had been punished, for a betrayal that was not a betrayal.  
He had known his role; so too, did those outside.  
  
Unlike the others, his confinement was a welcome punishment.  
  
He did not resent the isolation, for it was what he deserved.  
He did not bare ill will towards his captors, for their sin was human, as he had once been.  
He did not dream of freedom, because his freedom was to listen, patient and eternal.  
  
Even such as he could be surprised, however.  
  
The man who'd entered into the containment facility was just shy of middle age, or had aged prematurely.  
His stubble, the bags under his eyes, the exhaustion, all of them marked him as man weighed down by sin.  
And so, when this familiar stranger spoke, fell to the ground, shook and trembled and poured out hundreds of lifetimes worth of sin, condensed into words...  
  
He, the holy betrayer, listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there. Have you come to confess?..
> 
> This is a collection of unsorted Lobotomy Corporation fiction. I've been unable to put into words just how much I love this game, so, the least I can do is write some questionable fanfic to go with it. I love every character, scrap of lore, and abnormality (save one, you'll know it when you get to it) in this game. I can only hope I do t hem justice as I write, and manage to bring you further into this world.
> 
> On that note, don't expect _perfect_ canon compliance. Some of these entries may be silly, or crack-y, or just plain odd. Some might be poetry, some might have shipping, others might ship entirely different characters... Only to be followed up by entries that ship nobody or nothing in particular. 
> 
> I will probably add warnings to chapters that have possibly objectionable content like so: 'chapter name' [violence, cruelty, sex, pictures of [CENSORED]]. 
> 
> Most importantly, I hope you enjoy.


	2. a story in triplicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Come on come on _come on,_ you're gonna be late!"
> 
> She often dragged people along with her, and he didn't particularly like that part of her; didn't appreciate it at the time.  
> But he'd drawn at least one other into _his_ orbit, and for all he cared, they could all be their own galaxy, just the three of them.

"You don't have to wear a labcoat everywhere you go, you know - "  
  
He ignored her, throwing the labcoat over fancy clothes that'd fit a night out in the Wings. It had been Carmen's idea to go to a fancy soiree, when he would have rather spent the night looking at datasheets...  
Maybe having a few drinks, if they were feeling frisky.  
A small smile played at the edge of his lips.  
  
"Ben's coming, too. I told him to wear a labcoat. We'll fit in better, it's cool."  
  
"Oh, is that _so?_ Guess I've got no choice but to wear mine! I can't have the two of you standing out on your own, can I..?"  
  
See, the thing was, Carmen always won in the end. No matter what she did, privately, in a way he could never articulate?  
She was _perfect._ Perfect in a way he couldn't believe in, perfect in a way that brought out the desire to act out, to try to get ahead of her.  
But she always just resolved things with a smile and a laugh, unflappable and certain that the day would work out just fine.  
  
It wasn't a small room; unlike the office that he'd gotten used to, it was...  
Honestly?  
  
It was _nice._  
  
Benjamin had visited awhile back, and he and Carmen had been playing that new version of Janggi that had gotten so popular.  
They both took _forever_ to make their moves; and if he'd had to wait as long, well, hell. He'd have chopped an arm and a leg off.  
She cough him eyeing up the abandoned board, and a smile brighter than her fiery mane danced across her eyes.  
  
"Thinking of learning to play?"  
  
"You two can play your games. I'm an _intellectual,_ we spend our time doing constructive _owowowow._ "  
  
He didn't try to dodge her (dangerously small) hammerblows, her fingers tickling his sides even as he grappled for his seventh identification card.  
They'd made the mistake of leaving without all of them before; never again.  
  
"I think you'd be a little more attractive if you had a bit more fun, you know."  
  
She called him by his given name; it was strange, the way the words seemed to sizzle and die on her lips.  
It might have just been the moment, what with both of them _feeling_ the new arrival before he'd announced himself.  
  
"Uh, hello, you two..."  
  
"BENJAMIIIIIIN!"  
  
Carmen threw herself into introductions. Even when she was _quiet,_ the force of her personality made you believe she was louder. Benjamin, the somewhat shy young man he'd known for so long...  
Even he reacted well to it, smiled a bit more confidently.  
  
And it was strange. He felt happy, and jealous, and - remorseful, all at once. Like if he could freeze the memory as a memory, and hide it inside his skin, he would.  
God, he would.  
  
"Where were you? Wait, wait, don't tell me, THIS guy didn't send a runner or call you and you had to guess when the party was, right? Right?!"  
  
"H, hahaha, nothing quite so serious. I - forgot my fifth identification card. The guard was very polite, at least, she said it happens..."  
  
"That's rough, Ben."  
  
He interjected, not wanting the two of them to leave him behind, even when he usually _wanted_ to be left behind.  
Not now; not tonight.  
  
"You didn't have to actually wear a coat, though. There'll probably a lot of guys there, so - "  
  
"... I couldn't just let you look like somebody from the Backstreets, now, could I?"  
  
Benjamin's smug grin did him in. They had him at either side, quite literally.  
Hemming him in; preventing escape.  
...  
  
"Guys, do we - have to do this..."  
  
"I'm not a 'guy', you know. But, hmn, d-o-o we... What do you think, Ben?"  
  
Carmen's chin rested against the palm of her hand. The side of her smile was a welcoming line, and he found himself drawn to it, like so many were.  
He wanted to look away. (He couldn't look away. Memories were devils, and he wanted to forget.)  
  
Shrugging, Benjamin fiddled with his glasses; the kind of glasses that'd been held together by sealing epoxy back - in the days before.  
They were modern now, because Benjamin was a modern man, the kind of guy who'd been born for the Wings, and might not have never known it, if they hadn't made it this far...  
A small smile tugged at his cheeks, laden down with early wrinkles.  
  
"There's a time and a place for everything and, as it stands, I did... Bring some snacks, and stuff. As I recall, we left a game unfinished."  
  
It was a good night; a peaceful night. The kind that so many nights had been, so rarely had.  
And he didn't have to leave, to see the sunlight; he could just remain here, in this walled garden, with the two of them;  
and everything was

fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've considered using a multitude of different A names for 'A,' some of them names we've read, others just random names. Given how cosmpolitan the world is, they were drawn from all over; and I'd even considered possible fragments where A wasn't the A we know and... Respect for his amazing and ethical choices, pffft.
> 
> But I decided against it, because I think it would've gotten confusing and annoying. Clearly A's actual name is Aaaaaaaarg, anyway.
> 
> Carmen's strategy is to overwhelm the enemy with powerful force, by the way.  
> Benjamin's strategy is going 'hrmn' and 'hmn' and 'oh, I see' a lot until the opponent's sanity decreases and they take heavy SP damage. Then he takes forever to move a single soldier/pawn.
> 
> A doesn't have a strategy. He sucks at long-term planning.


	3. letty's big day out [some violence/gore]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, no! Containment has been breached! Terribly breached!  
> The facility is RUINED!
> 
> Hopefully, nobody takes this chance to go on an adventure!

Blood coated the walls.

A macabre festival decorated an underground facility; the screams of the dead and the dying might as well have been part of some gruesome orchestra, grown in the belly of a bronze animal.  
Through the darkness, it rang; a single sound, like chimes - perhaps a bell.

Hazard lights alternating in hues of yellow illustrated the path ahead of her.   
She took care not to step on any of the ~~broken~~ things. After a few days, they would spring to life again!  
It would be a funny joke, and she and all her friends liked funny jokes.  
  
Even still, she felt a little bad for Mister Funny Teeth in the corner. Why, he had been stretched out like a saltwater taffy!  
(She'd learned that word from Mister Funny Teeth, who'd given her some saltwater taffy as part of their time together.)  
He had been a nice friend, so she hadn't played a mean prank on him. When he was feeling better and the green friends sprouting so happily down his open mouth had stopped blossoming, she would give him some saltwater taffy.  
  
Laetitia hopped daintily over his body, a movement that few would see, since she had no desire to cause that much trouble, not normally, no. Was this place only corridors and rooms?   
Boring, boring, boring.  
  
(One of her little friends whispered from deep inside of her, his tiny furred claws suggesting that maybe the doors would have new friends inside!)  
  
Nodding, her mouth still a perfect mask of surprise, Laetitia kicked open one of the doors, surprised that the metal gave way to such a tiny gesture.  
Goodness, but this place wouldn't have made a good home for her friends, after all! It wasn't nearly sturdy enough!  
How shoddy...  
  
There was no light inside the room, which was almost entirely the same as the one they'd made for her.  
Chimes signaled her disappointment, right until she noticed that some of the darkness was not darkness, but a _terribly tall shadow._  
  
A creak and shatter of dark feathers fell around her as the struggling person upon the pillar choked, sputtered, and broke.  
(She laughed a happy chime, what a funny face!)  
  
But the occupant of this boring room, they weren't boring at all. They were tall and elegant and very sombre, and she felt that they could use a saltwater taffy, so she produced one with the help of the magic of her best friends!  
(She had stored them in a hidden place, that only her friends knew how to find. They were such clever friends!)  
  
[ _child of stars, why are you here]_

Asked a voice inside her mind. It was just like how her friends sometimes spoke to her, so Laetitia didn't mind at all. The sound of her hat swinging from side to side rang out a reply, and the tall bird knelt down, looming over her.  
For some reason, it had bandaged itself up, the entirety of its head! _That_ wasn't funny at all, and seemed like a prank that had no punchline.  
Laetitia reached up in a faltering motion, and patted the bird's blood-bandaged head, three times.  
  
[ _are you lost, child of stars; this is not the place for you]_  
  
 _Finally!_  
 _An adult!_  
  
Well, she was _almost_ an adult. The next time a star died, she'd be one, probably.  
Still, her head rang back and forth so many times that she felt she might accidentally shake several of her friends free; but she was so happy and exuberant!  
The tall bird was deep in thought, a wet and squelchy sound coming from inside those bandages.  
  
Oh! It must need air, and it must be struggling to breath.  
She felt so very bad for it, but didn't know a good way to help -  
  
[ _it seems your sins are of little concern. shall i walk you home_ ]

Outside, the halls were now covered with something besides blood. The black and viscous fluid shone with a beautiful flurry of colours; all oily and rich.  
She could not hop over it, but Mister(?) Tall Bird was a true gentlebird and did let her ride on his shoulders. Oh, she had not expected he was somewhat strong, too, especially when pulled up Miss Straw Hair and gave her a laughing fit!  
Laetitia wanted to laugh and clap and sing, but Mister Tall Bird was very sombre, and she did not want to distract him.  
  
The yellow lights faded to a darkened green, as a tired voice echoed something through a PA system. She could hear the entirety of what was said through such systems, but had never payed it too much mind.  
After all, who would communicate anything important using something so insecure? That wouldn't be funny, even as a prank!  
  
Whatever the strange structure in the centre of the room was, it looked like a good place to hide things, so she hid several tempospatial objects there.  
Like bug houses, they would make great doorways for her friends! But now, the whole room could be a big bug friend house!  
(She felt very proud.)  
  
Hanging from the ceiling were more of the suit people; they comprised a mobile, the kind you'd find over a child's creche, and for some reason all of the tops of their heads were gone.  
Didn't they _need_ those? So strange, these people...  
  
Around the corner, a prickled plant was trying to help one of the headcases, but plants were like her friends; they could only do so much.  
Immediately, Mister Tall Bird bristled and grew hostile, but she chimed amicably, and hopped down from his shoulders.  
  
Not many knew this, but the hidden language of plants was very similar to the language of insect friends.  
  
Some moments later, there was a rustle of black feathers as her avian companion withdrew from where his head nearly abutted the ceiling, and took a seat next to them, cross-legged.  
Raucously, she relayed the story of Mister Smiling Cactus, and Mister Tall Bird listened intently.  
  
[ _both of you are lost in this den of wretchedness_ ]  
  
Mister Smiling Cactus and herself both nodded intentionally, Mister Smiling Cactus's entire body shaking, which caused the chains he wore to make a pleasant sound.  
She wished Mister Smiling Cactus would've been able to live in the lightless, soundless, waterless void of home, but she had once returned home with a rose she'd put in a pot; her friends had made fun of her and played so many pranks on her because of it..!  
  
[ _very well, it is a crime to imprison minors_ ]  
  
But, was it? What if there was no law in this place?  
It would explain many things, like the tacky colour scheme, lack of bright things, and wallpaper.  
Laetitia thought very hard about this, and was about to make a suggestion when the hall burst into a ballet of metal.  
  
Moments later, she, Mister Smiling Cactus, and Mister Tall Bird, all disappeared.  
  
"Prairie Thunder, this is Incisor. The grass has been cut."  
  
"Status report?"  
  
The figure in orange armour stared at the evapourating scenery in front of them, and made a non-committal grunt.  
  
"Looking forward to forgetting all about it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laetitia is a good girl.


	4. keepin' the lights on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing a few of the recurring employees you'll see crop up from time to time.  
> Hmn, shame about OCs? That's 2019-era stuff. We ride or die in this power company.

_\- appears to be a branch, or twig, or possibly some kind of sapling.  
The Zayin-class entity is largely harmless, but provides a striking contrast.  
When alone, it is easy to work with, responding well to both positive and negative reinforcement. It provides little energy.  
As it 'grows' and its duplicates, classified as a sub-entity appear, it provides rote Enkephalin for its classification, however is difficult to -  
  
_ [She felt the tap of fingers on her shoulder before she'd put the book down.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Exfse4Bnotg)

"It's rare to see you going over the supplementary material, T. Everything all right?"  
  
Employee 'W' was maybe a year or two younger than she was. She placed him just shy of thirty, but with the kind of babyface that had survived all the bullshit the world used to tear you down.  
He'd brought over a sandwich or something, and she took it cheerfully. The food in the atrium was just awful, but it kept you alive; and if you survived long enough to get used to this place, well...  
That was enough.  
  
"Good enough. Good enough."  
  
She'd gotten used to thinking of employees by their initials, hell, their identification if she didn't much care for them. But W, he was different.  
He'd been hired a day after her, and so she could joke that she'd always be alive a day longer than he was. He'd hung on, when - most hadn't.  
Somehow, even that hair that was a lighter shade of brown than hers, that was like, what'd they call it, _complimentary._ Like, they fit well together.  
  
(And she subsumed her smile before it spread.)  
  
"Gotta love a day without alarms - "  
  
"Could we - not just waste words..."  
  
He did that thing, the one where he bit his lip and looked uncertain, and she found it very hard to make fun of him when he did.  
Normally she might've; if it was S, she definitely would have.  
But...  
  
"Yeah, sure. Wanna walk?"  
  
W had a slight paunch that he tried to hide with excellent posture. Early on, he'd done everything in his power to be a model employee, and on some days, he still _tried._  
The glasses he wore were fancy, too, not the kind you'd see out in the Backstreets. Hmn, hmn...  
  
He just kept tucking his hands into his pockets. _Something was up.  
  
_ "I've just - I've been dreaming a lot, recently."  
  
"Dreams don't mean anything. They're just bullshit our minds use to beat us into line."  
(She wanted a smoke, and settled for gesturing grandiosely.)  
  
"Well, that's nice, Ta - "  
  
"Eh-eh- _eh._ "  
  
Holding a finger up to his lips, she glanced over her shoulder all to quickly, a response any long-term employee developed in this prison.  
Nobody was around. It wasn't a big deal, shouldn't have been a big deal, but...  
Maybe she just didn't want anybody else calling her by a name she'd given up to work here. To follow the _dream._  
  
It took her only a moment more to realise she'd put her hand against the wall, and was kinda looming over him, and he was both a little sweaty and trying not to laugh.  
Mumbling to herself, she stuck _her_ hands in her pockets.  
  
"Okay, so, shoot. Hit me with your wild n' wooly dreams."  
  
"They weren't wild or wooly - "  
  
"Naturally, boring guys have boring dreams!"

"You say that, and yet movie night - Listen, you're distracting me."  
  
"Hehe, just as planned..."  
  
" - You're distracting me, and the point was that I keep on dreaming about you dying, so, just, don't do anything stupid. Okay, that's all."  
  
Frowning like the words had taken some kind of herculean show of strength, he removed his glasses in a smooth swipe of his hand, and polished them with all the fury of a man scorned.  
But it was also hard, because, saying she wouldn't - that'd be a lie. A promise you couldn't keep, down here.  
Where just making it to the next day was an uncertainty, especially for the Disciplinary Team.  
  
She ground her teeth against one another, and smiled, just a bit.  
It was fine, nobody else was here.  
  
"I'll try."  
  
... He had a really nice smile.  
  
"That's all I can ask, really. So, uh - "  
  
"You look beat, W. Lemme guess, they assigned you to [T-04-50](https://lobotomycorp.fandom.com/wiki/Queen_Bee) again..?"  
  
His sigh echoed throughout the corridor, and she was glad for the elevator up ahead. They were just above Asiyah; a bit further up, row after row of hab complexes for employees...  
Or containment facilities of a different sort, depending on how you wanted to look at it.  
  
And he talked about she wasn't so hard to work with, if you were patient and observant, and about how there'd been a fire inside the containment facility, but he'd managed to put it out before it agitated her, and all sorts of things.  
She - genuinely enjoyed listening, to pretty much everyone. Because listening was easier than talking, and she always wrestled with the fact that people'd decide she had nothing of interest to say.  
... But most of all, she was glad he either hadn't noticed she hadn't asked him to keep an eye on himself, or...  
  
He had, and just hadn't said anything at all.  
  
The elevator thrummed with collected power, lights and facilities vanishing so far beneath them.  
It almost felt like a day, anywhere else.  
  
On days like this, it was easy to imagine it was all a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T & W are my first two hires, and eventually lived with my right until day 49, where... Well.  
> Both are assigned to Gebura, because despite their many differences in personality, they excel at suppression work.
> 
> T is gangly, tall, and somewhat crooked in the teeth. Despite being blunt and (seemingly) a bit unobservant, she's actually kind of gentle... In a weird way that fits all the odd souls who find themselves in the underworld. Terrible posture, big gestures, long and frayed brown hair that probably breaches some regulation or another, but... She's served so long that nobody pays her too much mind. (Somehow, I feel this is pretty common for any employee that makes it more than five days.)
> 
> She wears her suit like it isn't fitted at all, is constantly fighting the urge to terrorise newbies (it helps them adapt, right?) and once (apparently) bit [CENSORED] and somehow lived to tell the tale. Outside of energy collection and morale enforcement, she enjoys old films from the year ______, poetry, and fancy dresses. She's been putting money aside for something, and what it's for...
> 
> W feels like he shouldn't be working at this place. He's kind to a fault, but somewhat insular and withdrawn. He easily gets overwhelmed by people, but has a hidden reserve he seems to draw on when the chips get bad. His glasses are just aesthetic; he has pretty decent vision, but it's his 'secret advantage.' (It's not really an advantage.) Seems to have amazing luck at getting out of bad situations with hard-to-work-with abnormalities. A little short, well-groomed, clean-shaven except on bad days. Good at cheering people up, but very hard to cheer up himself.
> 
> Despite taking care of his appearance and maybe even being a little vain, he's showing the signs of having worked at the place for too long. His smile kind of fragments from time to time. You pick up on it. He has piles of notes (personal, supplementary) he's taken on abnormalities, but privately thinks they're all useless. He loves modern full-immersion games, history from the war, and the sound of maglev vehicles tearing through the Nest. 
> 
> They'll crop up from time to time. Funnily enough, I labeled all my initial employees by letter as it helped me organise them; I felt a bit silly as the plot unfolded, but, uh, it works?


	5. golgotha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 'what-if' moment, in a time before.  
> Kali's ride breaks down, and it's the person she least expects that helps out.  
> Funny how that works, isn't it..?

"You're barely alive, and you're already dying on me? You aren't _allowed_ to die."  
  
The hoarse way she says the words, they sound like a _command._   
Which makes it a little embarrassing that she's talking to a motorbike, of all things, but, even if somebody were around, the Red Mist had never given a shit about the unearned opinions of others.  
... The Red Mist might have cared a little about being _late,_ though.  
  
It was an incredibly gloaming night. The kind where somebody'd waged war against the heavens, and everybody'd lost. With the sky that awful red colour that just made her wanna...  
  
She growled under her breath, and glared at **_Samsara_. **Sure, it'd been the rare gift to herself; something cool, but something practical.  
But did it really have to turn out like this..?  
  
A dead expanse of road pulled onwards, as far as the eye could see; blackened and bruised by the sky above.  
No fucking way she was walking to some station to get her 'identification in order.' She'd have to turn back, which meant that she'd fucked up, which meant disappointing someone who'd done something wonderful, something terrible.  
Someone who'd _believed_ in her.  
  
"Damnit..."  
  
She muttered again, but there wasn't any rage left there; just embers, and the sound of a bell.  
  
 _uh, the sound of a -_  
  
"Why hello there. Looking kind of miserable, miss. Need a hand?"  
  
"Get bent - out of shape, uh, wait. _Wait._ Gianna, right?"  
  
"... Am I really so unmemorable..."  
  
Rolling his eyes theatrically, 'blue' got off of his bike; an actual bike, mind, the kind certain shady couriers used in the Backstreets.  
It had a fancy little bell to match his fancy little coat, and she would've laughed except that it was so _worn down_ and _cherished_ that she actually felt kind of bad.  
... Anyway, she hadn't been angry at _him._  
  
"Hey, sorry. I just - shit. I don't like being late, and I'd tried to come over on my own power, and - "  
  
"And things got out of hand, let's see... Wow, this is a real beauty."  
  
"She is, ain't she?"  
  
Kali's eyes lit up; it was the kind of motorbike that you might have _dreamt_ about if you'd spent any time in the Backalley, but dreams weren't supposed to come true for people like her.  
And anyway, dreams often ended up being a bit less perfect in reality, but she would've been fine with that - any time but today...  
  
To her surprise though, poncy pants was down on his knees, his stupid little hat daintily doffed at the side of the road. She knelt on one knee beside him, watching him work.  
It was something she did whenever she didn't know something on her own; part of how she'd survived.  
  
Getting strong is learning from others, as much as training yourself. Do it long enough, you can pass the knowledge you've gained on, and -   
  
"Is the capacitor still primed? I don't know if H. Company still makes them like this."  
  
"Yeah, I took a look at that first. It should be good to go, uh - "  
  
"Daniel. Dan is fine. Wow, I've got no clue... Looks like I let you down, ahahaha!"  
  
He seemed so laid-back about all of it, and there was something so _farcical_ about this guy showing up, determined to help, and just - facefaulting through it...  
Hell.  
  
She laughed, too.  
  
"Lemme guess, you're late, as well."  
  
"Got it in one, Red Mist. Can your friends call you that? Your fellow employees, I should say..?"  
  
"I don't hate it."  
  
She left it open-ended; he could do what he pleased.  
And what he pleased, for the moment, was sighing and dusting himself off, standing straight and flipping his hat onto his head - and staring up at the night sky, with a somewhat wistful expression.  
  
"Part of me wanted to catch the last maglev in. For good luck, you know. These processing stations take forever, even if you've sent in every detail of your life from the moment you were a twinkle in your mothers' eye."  
  
"You used to that? Being from the Wings, and all?"  
  
"A little. It's worse, down here."  
  
Kali couldn't tell if he was being honest, so she grunted, quietly.  
They'd taken to walking their respective bicycles, motorised and pedal-powered, through the starstruck dark.  
  
"Is - are they gonna kick us out for not having proper papers, or - whatever..."  
  
"No."  
  
His perfectly polite smile fidgeted, just a bit.  
  
"Between Carmen and myself, don't underestimate the power of good fortune, and connections."  
  
"She _is_ pretty great, huh?"  
  
In spite of herself, Kali smiled.  
Daniel sighed, shut his eyes, and smiled back.  
  
"The sort of person you just can't help but believe in. I wish she'd warned us about being headstrong, but nobody's perfect - "  
  
"You've got to warn yourself about things like that!"  
  
Although the stars didn't seem so distant right now, the rest of the night had become more distant.  
She saw something, perhaps a statecar, perhaps several. She remembered getting a lift, remembered that getting her identification had been easy, far easier than Daniel's dire prognostication.  
That they'd made silly faces on the last few takes, in that way that's only funny when you're too damn tired.  
  
He'd waved, rode his silly little bike off, and she'd been recommended a quality repairshop, in a quality part of the Nest.  
It'd all felt so damn alien; it'd all felt  
  
like  
  
a

dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering, Daniel breaks for coffee.
> 
> By the way... The Sephirah are back?! I'm so freakin' happy, and I love the redesigns, but... What does that mean, I am so crazy excited for Ruina. Guess we'll see...  
> Here's to hoping Angela is the PV character this round. 
> 
> Anyway, I don't know if they would've been friends, exactly, but I feel like they would've gotten on a lot better than their reflections, underground...


	6. i might feel shy tomorrow, too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing wrong with feeling shy.  
> But it's not as if feeling shy means that you want to avoid other people.  
> Often, you just wish they'd try to deal with you on your terms.  
> Just, once or twice.

In the cold facility, so far underground, there were several containment units that received little attention.  
To their solitary occupants, such facilities might have seemed a prison, a fortress where they had been left to rot - alone, and uncared for.  
For others, however...  
  
You could feel it, if you strained yourself.  
  
_The slight heat of the sun, underground.  
  
_Rythmically went the work.  
Splash; a wringing of water from something that might be mistaken from tightly wound fabric.  
A tensile pull, and the cathartic unrolling of bound hide, left to rest in a breeze that was just recycled air.  
  
  
But a metallic **'thud'** cut through the stillness of another peaceful day, and the washerwoman retreated behind a comforting fortress of a different sort.  
A trench, an arbitray, dividing boundary - or any number of words that might mean something other than what it was, however ghoulish.  
  
It was, after all, still just a clothesline.  
  
No intruder stumbled in while she was hiding behind a fearsome face, lips curled downward so that she could show off teeth she'd felt free to never brush again.  
They all said she was an 'abnormality', which meant that it was pointless to worry about things like which brand of whitening powder to buy, or which dietitian had advertised which makeup, or -  
Or anything, really.  
  
She waited a bit more, a little more hopefully.  
  
After awhile, a second, lighter thud - in a familiar pattern, one that'd be recognised by anybody who'd struggled to come up with a 'knock you can identify me by.'  
_Tap-taptaptap-tap, tap tap.  
  
_Even still, the person on the other side of the door waited, and she took her time deciding if she wanted a visitor today.  
But - after a long while - she stood behind the face second-most from the room's left. And then, oh-so-quietly, so quietly you'd be forgiven for thinking you hadn't heard anything at all...  
  
Feet so bare she'd let the muscle gleam in the artificial sun tapped a reply back, against the metal floor.  
  
"I hope I'm not interrupting too much. Just tap again when you're tired."  
  
One point, long ago, she'd had a name, but she didn't really, anymore.  
Now they just called her O-01-92, or Shy Look when the interrogators were talking amongst themselves.  
And it would have been dehumanising to her, but she'd stopped viewing herself as human a long time ago.  
  
...  
  
This particular jailor was different, though.  
  
At first, Shy Look hadn't particularly cared for her; she talked so very much, and none of it was even a little thoughtful.  
She just talked, and talked, and _talked_ and seemed to be an absolute burden to listen to.  
... At first.  
  
  
But most of the wardens of this dungeon seemed to arrive, form the bare minimum of a connection, and leave. They - got something from the experience, and she wasn't sure what.  
It didn't particularly matter, to her; occasionally, her presence drove them away, or even scared them stiff, until another jailor came to haul the corpse or a panicking wretch out.  
  
Not her, though.  
  
Kicking her own shoes off, the employee sat with her back against the 'curtain' of flesh, chin against her hand.  
She wore - very ugly, practical shoes, and it was the sort of thing Shy Look noticed instantly. (She'd always noticed fashion, after all; too much, and it'd been a factor that'd almost lead to a breakdown, instead of the happy medium she'd found.)  
  
Just like her personality, it'd struck Shy Look the wrong way, at first.  
But, just as happily as the employee, 'T', was to remove them...  
  
At some point, she'd realised that all the talking was just making Shy Look agitated. She'd gone silent.  
She hadn't left, she'd just - waited.  
  
They waited, together.  
  
Even though there must be other prisoners in the facility, T kept returning. Sometimes, she talked about how things were outside.  
And occasionally, she talked about other things.  
  
... Shy Look was a good listener.  
It had been why so many people insisted on talking to her, _before._  
But she didn't hate it, either. Not when people were - patient, with her.  
  
T stared at her socks, ran a hand through her hair.  
Smiled, a very slight smile.  
  
"Brought you some stuff. Figured you might be getting low."  
  
And Shy Look knew you weren't supposed to associate too much with prisoners; but T seemed to be one of those elder employees that is allowed to do virtually anything they please, the kind that's been on so long that people just acknowledge them, and move on.  
  
_Perhaps it was a stroke of fortune._  
  
Whatever abnormalities were, whatever she was supposed to be, she'd always been creative.  
The sort of person who'd always been relied upon when it came to any project that involved sewing, gluing, painting, cutting, or stabbing.  
And she had been content, down here. But - the oil paints and canvas, even when they'd inevitably be confiscated, with the other wardens pretending not to know who brought them...  
It would be nice, until then.  
  
Originally, T had planned to sell them; apparently there was a market for such things, and money ruled the city - even still.  
... But once she'd seen them, she said, it would've been impossible.  
That was when Shy Look had decided she'd be patient with _her,_ in return.  
  
"Guy's pretending to be thick. Not quite sure why. Every day's miserable, down here. And I mean, we're all gonna die someday, right..."  
  
It was enough to _almost_ make her want to peek out from behind the safety of her curtain, because she loved romance!  
... And arguments, and fights, and angst. Possibly even princes, she felt. A pity about them being in short supply.  
  
"Dunno if I can blame him, though. I brush him off when he gets serious, because I feel the same way. That when everything goes to hell down here..."  
  
She trailed off, and Shy Look was glad to see the smile stretch, become a bit more natural.  
(She was hardly one to judge, but... At the same time... She'd tried so hard to fit in, for others' sakes. Even with how things turned out, seeing others daily expressions become brighter...)  
  
The reason T had trailed off was the scratching sound. It was hard to hold a brush with fingers devoid of skin, but Shy Look had become a master of the process.  
Once more, time passed amicably. T only interrupted once, to tell a short story, one about growing up in the Backstreets and crawling up a tower of melted iron.  
For someone like Shy Look, it sounded alien, and even a little heroic...  
  
But at the moment, her attention was elsewhere.  
  
When she was finished, she carefully slid the drawing out, and just as carefully took a position in the middle of her clothesline.  
The face she'd painstakingly crafted there was cautious, neutral. It was her safest face, because it allowed her to be anything she wanted to be, at any time.  
Nothing else was required of her.  
  
T took the coarse recycled paper in her hands, flipped it over.  
Her cracked lips - _she remembered having lips, how strange humanity was -_ stretched into a painful smile, for a fraction of a moment.  
She looked, very much, like she wanted to cross the dividing line between them, but...  
  
It was because she didn't that Shy Look had given it to her in the first place.  
  
"Hey, uh. Thanks."  
  
At the far left, she kept her happiest face. Even as mercurial as her mood could be, it was a rare occasion when she felt happy for too long.  
Happiness itself brought back memories and doubts, which eroded it and made it feel unwelcome, a stranger in her own skin - or what was left of it.  
  
Right now, though?  
Right now, she was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shy Look Today is a friend.  
> Not just in my headcanon, I mean. She's very rarely lethal if you know what you're doing, provides good early-game energy, and can be helpful training any stat, so long as you don't barge into her room like a big ol' jerk. After all, even abnormalities want to be treated decently.  
> Even her Ego gift is a cheery, smiling face!.. She's rooting for you, even if you spend all your time harvesting from WAW+ threats.
> 
> But yeah, also in my headcanon. That too.  
> This is T's favourite abnormality. She isn't a particularly shy lady, but... Well, how you present yourself and how you think about yourself, how you feel, those are often different things entirely. I think a lot of people can understand Shy Look Today.
> 
> It might be that she's the hidden Aggretsuko character.


	7. a poem as red as champagne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who wrote it.

_Don't look at me_

_as if that stare is a solution_

_formulaic_

_our sacred code._

_I cannot be your angel_

_when nothing I have done_

_is anything_

_but a ruined garden_

_upturning everything_

_we touched_

_and this nothing pressure is rising  
_

_until all the empty parts of me_

_fill with nothing_

_too._

_like clockwork, he'll tell you_

_you can fix this_

_with me._

_you_

_can't_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red champagne actually exists. In this case, please consider it poetic licence.
> 
> A quick question; I was thinking of adding a 'table of contents' that hyperlinks to chapters and lists the characters present.  
> I realised not everyone wants to read drabbles that cover the entire gamut of Lobotomy Corps, after all.  
> Does that sound like a good idea? I'd be interested in your thoughts!


	8. pick your poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an even that's only happened twice in the history of the company.  
> Coffee vs. Enkephalin, 'til the targets are down.  
> Who will win? Can there even be a winner, in such a prison-like hell?
> 
> Good question. This one might be considered crack, or as a certain Rabbit'd say, wack.  
> Your call, good readers.

For the fifth or sixth time, Netzach cursed his rotten luck.  
Being stuck in a forlorn underground tomb, that was one thing.  
Now, being stuck in a forlorn underground tomb with these guys...

It had all started the same way everything else did.  
  
He'd been trying to avoid work, and not think about much of anything at all.  
(It'd been a good deal, right?)  
  
Man, that damned Yesod and his internal memo...  
It'd ruined everything. _He_ had ruined everything.

Okay, sure. Yesod probably hadn't planned for people to read too deeply into a hydration reminder, let alone the Sephirah themselves. Unless it was coolant fluid, it shouldn't have really meant anything at all.  
  
But, apparently Malkuth had forwarded it with some extra text, and the gossip mill had carried it on swift wings, all the way down to the Architecture Team – if rumour was to be believed. And at the moment, he was pretty sick of rumours.

Rumours had led to this, he was gonna call it a _farce._

In one corner of a requisitioned Security Dept. storeroom, Malkuth was inspecting the containers of stored Enkephalin for any defects or 'safety hazards.' Which was dumb! Enkephalin WAS a safety hazard, but, hey, she seemed happy.  
  
... Good for her.

Wiping glowing green goop from his frame and shaking it off the reinforced waldo unit that served as his 'hand', Netzach turned his gaze to his most fervant supporter, since that total snake hadn't even bothered to show.

Hod was jumping up and down, and he pitied the poor bastards who had their maximum strength cognition filter up. Seeing her antenna swaying...

Didn't really elicit any emotion at all.  
Maybe pity.  
Sorry, Hod.

Okay, there was _one_ thing that Yesod had done for him, so Netzach decided to bury his simmering resentment before it stewed over and made another crappy day worse. Yesod had taken some of the unused cloth wrapping he bundled himself up with, and managed to sew it into something that looked like a pretty decent approximation of a champion's cape.

It swished vainly as Netzach drew his manipulator arm across his face, and threw a 'thumb' down at his opponent.  
  
Maybe Yesod was kinda cool after all.

In the blue corner (heh), Chesed was already started on a warm-up cuppa. The aroma of strong black coffee probably would have smelled nice, but as a Sephirah, he could only simulate the sensation and miss it – having never truly experienced it, anyway.

Nobody had come to cheer for him; Gebura had sent an e-mail to everyone but Chesed, implying she'd come to 'see him lose,' but apparently even that had been too much.  
  
Honestly, Netzach felt he could spare maybe an iota of pity or whatever, but, since he'd been roped into this, he damn well wasn't going to give up; it was a great excuse not to work, and indulge his favourite pastime without being shunned by half the damn facility.

“You ready to get wrecked or whatever?”

As far as taunts go, it was pretty lame.

What surprised him was Chesed's _utter death glare,_ the thin blue light of one cheesed-off LED telling his very soul that maybe this wasn't gonna go how he'd expected it.  
  
Carefully, Chesed set his mug at his side, and smacked one waldo against the other, digits manipulated into a kinda crummy fist.  
  
“Don't underestimate the love of one man for his coffee. So! House rules, I take it?”  
  
“Yep, and I'm the house! Which is to say, er-hmn! The second person to pass out gets to tell the manager juuuuuuust what happened today! The first person gets to tell Angela.”  
  
Malkuth's enthusiasm peaked and crashed as the full weight of what she'd announced hit them.  
All of them.  
  
Was that what _he_ looked like most of the time? Yikes.  
  
“Anyway, for this round, we've managed to find an impartial arbitrater, who just so happens to be an Arbiter! Binah, go, go, go!”  
  
“Now, did I _ever_ say that...”  
  
Binah hadn't actually left the depths; she apparently took her work too seriously or something. Netzach had only been paying a little attention, but she'd apparently found the whole spectacle 'just too ghoulish to ignore', or whatever she needed to tell herself to hide the fact that even weirdos like her got bored.

And so she'd graced them with her presence via a tiny rotating holographic display, which seemed to work well enough for her. Sighing an electric sigh, Netzach made a half-hearted rude gesture towards Chesed.

“Hey, never mind all that; I can't believe you roped me into this, so... En garde or whatever.”  
  
“Don't let that sonuvabitch kick you in the teeth, Netzach! Rip his heart out!”  
  
In spite of being a tin can, you could almost feel the spittle flying from Hod's grill as her antenna waggled back and forth. Malkuth tried to step in front of her and ease the Training Team coach's temper a bit, but -

“Er, Hod, you don't have to be - “  
  
“FIIIIIGHT! _FIIIIIIIIGHT!_ ”  
  
\- Hod simply cracked a half-contained of Enkephalin above her head, the sickly green glow permeating her outer shell.  
  
Netzach had been mildly impressed by her tolerance, but he still wasn't too happy about it. Sure, it got you through the day, but, it's not like he wanted to see anyone else, uh, _uh -_

To his side, Chesed had already half-emptied one of the giant tubs of coffee, smuggled from the surface with the help of a certain contact. Not once had his dour, baleful glare faded. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

“Uh, slow down, that can't be good for y - “  
  
“Coffee has nothing but health benefits. Some people think it's the sole healthy addiction left in the world.”  
  
Mumbled Chesed, brown liquid falling pointlessly through metal plating.  
  
“Yeah, well, fine. I'm the champ!”  
  
None of this mattered.  
None of this came close to mattering.  
But for a brief, terrible moment, he'd allowed himself to care about something, so useless, so inconsequential, because it was inconsequential, ~~because he was having fun -  
  
~~ “Hod! Combo attack, now!”  
  
“I'm ON IT!”

With a flourish, he hurled the 'champion's robe' to the side, where it caught on an unused office chair. The chair tilted, and fell over; Binah's hologram yawned, and somehow managed to roll a single eye.  
  
Lying (clunkily) down on the floor, which was probably cold, Netzach gestured to Hod, who – kind of rolled one of the canisters over, and kicked it several times with a mighty, yet somehow hesitant, warcry. When the canisters failed to explode open, she hung her head in disappointment, shoulder-analogues sagging.  
  
A momentary armistice was called sub-verbally, Malkuth and Chesed opening one of the stubborn containers while Netzach enjoyed communing with the floor.  
  
The moment it spurt opened, oozing forth turgid green nectar, Hod bellowed an even meeker roar, and (haltingly) poured some of the Enkephalin right into his frame. It was the best way to administer the stuff, Netzach found, and this might have been his plan all along – save for, ya know.

“... What on earth are all of you doing, here?”  
  
Binah's holographic presence had daintily nope'd out. She'd just vanished. Hadn't even said goodbye. She'd been laughing, too. Hadn't she? She had.  
  
Leaving a room full of contraband coffee, three-quarters drunk, and a helluva lot more bootleg Enkephalin slurry. Oh, yeah, and four Sephirah who shouldn't have been present.  
  
Angela stared at them.  
Her shuttered eyes and half-frown indicating not anger, but a quiet dissapointment.  
  
Then she turned on the balls of her feet, shut the door, and locked them in.  
  
...  
  
Could've been worse, though.  
The rest of the evening – if it was even evening – they spent playing cards.  
As it turned out, everyone had a different game, and – it wasn't too bad, really.  
  
Yesod came by not too long after, and unlocked the door. He had a speech peppered with all kinds of judgments, and Netzach even humoured him by listening, for a bit.  
  
As the embarrassed Sephirah shuffled back off to their departments, he waited in the hallways, until he was utterly alone. Made some excuse about wanting to dig back into the Enkephalin when they weren't looking. The green of his eye shot up to the ceiling, and he sighed again.  
  
“Let's do this again, sometime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enkephalin tastes like green jello and regret, prove me wrong. 
> 
> There was an alternate ending where Binah was monitoring Netzach the entire time, and got in some good cackling, but I like the ending as is.


	9. in the name of love and justice, here come magical girls! [some gore/body horror]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, the magical girls came from a time long before the war, long before things got quite so bad.  
> Here's a possible look at what that might have been.

“Say 'tiramisu!'”  
  
The buzzer clicked shut, and it was too late to wriggle free!  
It was the awkward, worst, most embarrassing kind of self-shot photo, and...  
 _She was so happy with how she looked in it._  
  
“AwwWwwWww, Spades, you made a face! It's ruined!”

“S, sorry... I thought it'd be kind of cute...”

“It's SUPER cute, but I wanted a serious memory. One that lasts forever. And what the hell were you doing, Diamond? Like, I can't tell what you're thinking at all, it's so... Enigmatic, and cool...”

Heart stuck her hands in her sky-blue jacket, and pouted.  
  
Of the three, she was just barely the youngest; her seventeenth birthday had been the first birthday Spades could actually remember attending. Her shoulder-length brown hair was always well-combed, she always had some cute accessory on, and she was always energetic. She'd been talking about dyeing it to match her transformation, which – Spades had always wished for that kind of courage.

The cold winter air didn't seem to bother her, although Heart had already forgotten the 'ruined' photograph and was focused on texting it to all three of them...

Spades made a mental note to pass it on to Cross, later.

And, of the three, Heart was the oldest in experience, having been put into play by the Magical Heartful Staff in 20XX. Spades would have never had the courage to talk to her on her own, and had been a little surprised when Heart struck up a conversation with _her._ And she'd been even more surprised to hear that Heart and Diamond were already best friends.  
  
Maybe it'd been a bit blind on her part; Diamond was chewing on a celery stick, and shot her a cheeky wink. Somehow, Diamond could make even a beat-up and overly large yellow overcoat feel cool and classy, but that was Diamond for you...  
  
Spades mumbled something indistinct, and turned away.  
  
Diamond was the shortest of their group by far, but she had this – this _presence_ – like, Spades had always thought she'd be perfectly suited for something glamorous, like, a professional stage singer or, or a... A famous actress, or something.  
  
It'd made her realise she didn't know a lot about what sort of things were famous or glamorous, and thoughts like that just – anyway, she pushed them away, and tried to smile back.

With a bright and toothy smile, Diamond snapped off a sprig of celery and held it out.

Really, though, celery...

“It's healthy, don't hesitate so much. If you don't keep up your health, how are you gonna keep taking the fight to the bad guys?”  
  
“F, fine... I'll pay you back, later.”  
  
Diamond frowned for a moment, and Spades wished she hadn't said it – it was a sprig of _celery_ , it was just, her parents –

“Okay! I'll be counting on it. Hey, Heart, wanna go hit that new arcade? I don't think Spades has even been there yet!”  
  
– but, just like that, Diamond had moved on and let it be. It was something Spades couldn't do just yet, but she was trying, and Diamond was so –  
  
“That's a wrong that needs righting, and when you need to do the right thing you can always count me in!”

For the second time, Spades found her brooding interrupted. Heart was like this all the time, and although she'd found it kind of exhausting at first, she'd been surprised to find that it actually energised her, most of the time. Spades didn't want to grow too dependent on it, but...  
  
Pushing her bangs out of her eyes, she tried to smile like they did.  
  
“Yeah, that sounds like fun. I'm pretty good at dancing games, so, just so you know...”  
  
She wasn't lying, either; for whatever reason, her parents had bought her a certain gaming system, and a certain off-brand dancing game. It was the only game she was technically allowed to own, though Heart kept sneaking in at random hours and 'loaning' games that had to disappear before aforementioned parents returned.

Even though Spades wanted to say that the part of her work she loved best was feeling like she was herself, or protecting people... It might just have been that she had such incredible friends.

The arcade was a little rundown, but had recently seen a resurgence of bored high-schoolers and laid-back college students. The owner had convinced a franchise pizza place to set up shop, added a bunch of claw machines...  
  
Diamond was glancing at the goods' counter and the contents of the machines with unconcealed hunger.  
  
Managing another smile, Spades leaned down and elbowed her shoulder, gently.  
  
“W, what... Do you think you can take on... The claw?”

“Oh, you know it. Hold my coat, Heart. I'm winning it this time.”  
  
“ _This_ time, huh? These games are a scam, you know. Oh, but of course, madame!”

Heart swept Diamond's jacket off smoothly with a mock bow, as Diamond stretched her shoulderblades, grinning confidently. She had the most – intense brown eyes, they looked almost like they were _red_ in the right light. Maybe _that_ was why Spades found her so cool, one of the reasons, at least –

Hunched over the machine, Diamond cajoled and prodded the controls; she was going for a rainbow-flecked fish that'd lost some of the cheap glitter that made up the fins, but at the last minute...  
  
“SHIT! SHIIIIIIIT!”  
  
All her cool allure went out the window as she frantically tried to steer the controls back from the purple viper that the crane had settled on. Heart was doubled over from laughter, and though at first, Spades had envied how close the two of them were...

“I guess you won... Congratulations...”  
  
“SPADES, YOU – _urgh._ Traitor. God, I'm so done. Lookit at, it's an offbrand purple snake! Who the hell wants something like... _Hmn..._ ”

Diamond's eyeroll settled into a brilliant glint as she caught sight of the still-laughing Heart.

“Congratulations, 'madame.' Your purple snake!”

Heart stopped laughing, wiped some tears from under her eyes, and smiled brightly.

“... Thanks, aw... Makes me miss Kukulkan a bit less. I actually think the purple colour is kind of cute? Not as cute as Spades, though!”

“S, stop...”  
  
(Murmured Spades, already having decided that she wouldn't have minded if Heart had continued a bit more.)  
  
“Anyway, uhmn... I actually... I'm sorry, Diamond, I also got a job, recently.”  
  
“Oh! My! GOD! The two of you getting work before me, what sort of screwed up world is this? Congrats, but, were you going somewhere with this..?”  
  
“I – kind of wondered if maybe the two of you wanted to see a movie, or something. Uhmn. That'd let me get home, at a set time, and – “  
  
“Sure, of course.”  
  
Diamond frowned, again, for a split second.

... It made Spades want to smile.  
She was – so lucky...

The movie she'd picked out was a horror film. The kind of terrible movie with no production values, no moral, and (honestly) little actual fear factor.  
  
Summed up in a sentence, it was _fantastic._

Heart kept pretending to be scared, hiding behind her new stuffed companion. Whenever Spades glanced her way, she'd waggle it at her, like it was waving. And because the movie had been out for ages and nobody cared to see it, Heart had (of course) lounged on the chair in front of her, and was loudly chewing on popcorn like she owned the place.

Diamond, on the other hand, was watching the movie intently, her lips pursed. Occasionally, her almost-white brows furrowed, and by the end, she was just shaking her head. Heart had burst into another gigglefit as the killer removed his mask to reveal it had actually been the killer's estranged female cousin the entire time.

“What, exactly, was the point? I kept waiting for some beautiful scenery shot or something, you know, to fantasize about? Like, man, a nice house I could have for myself, or a kind of rugged guy, you know, with lots of stubble, and, URGH, Spades, this was...”  
  
Heart excused herself to laugh more in the hallway as Spades kept sneaking looks at Diamond, whose brows managed to furrow even further beyond.  
  
“Did you choose this **just** to hear me tear into it?”  
  
“Muahaha...”  
  
Spades played with a strand of stray black hair, and tried to hide her crooked smile.  
  
“I hope that's all right, I just always... Kind of get a rush when you lay into stuff like this flat. I actually liked it, I do – like this kind of movie. But it's fun, when... Y'know...”  
  
Diamond smiled wide, her eyes shut, and then proceeded to talk about how it should've been roughly twenty times more sumptuous for the budget it had as they walked back to the counter. Wordlessly, Heart and Spades exchanged glasses as Spades got a few more concessions for their trip back, but she'd learned not to ask if Diamond had only had celery, that day.

... And then they split up, and it was such a perfect day before a big fight that she _almost_ felt bad for lying.

Her parents had left the house a week back, but cast such a strong aura that they... They had a lot of uses, and were great parents, of course, and she absolutely loved them – anyway, they were extra-useful and nice in this case, since, the real reason she'd asked for some extra time before meeting up was...

Cross had sent her twelve messages, today.

Spades couldn't say why Cross only spoke with her; why Cross only communicated through an archaic chat set-up, and only showed up to fight abnormalities. Just like all the rest of it – why they could perceive abnormalities when others couldn't, why they'd been chosen, their mysterious duty – Spades tried not to think about it too much.

After all, even if Heart had been her first friend, and Diamond was the woman she... It was Cross that had truly believed in her.

“Hey. You're being so very quiet today. Problems at home?”

Was the most recent message. Spades couldn't help but spill out everything whenever they spoke. Cross was incredibly rich, incredibly ill, and probably wouldn't be alive if it weren't for the first part. She'd – thrown out all these hard-to-understand terms the moment it'd come up, and Spades knew that she just wasn't smart enough to understand.

But it didn't matter.  
  
She would be Cross's knight, and if she could protect her even a little bit, then...

“no! c: good day today. oh, forget tosend you pics!!”

The attic Spades called home also had the home refrigerator. There was one downstairs, but it was full of liquor and medicine. Her dad had said they were one and the same, anyway, it was something that'd get the three of them ready to fight...  
  
“You look so good today. I'm really happy you're letting your hair grow out. What's with that expression, though?”

Cross didn't use emoticons, emoji, or even unicode. But, the one time Cross'd let her visit, Spades had a pretty good idea of what she was up to right now – leaning curled up in her bed, grinning from ear to ear.

“did it make yuo laugh?”

“It did.”

“yess mission accomplished! ^^ “

She might have added some extra emotion there, but – that was fine. For the first time she had ever dared to count, she had three incredible friends, one of whom she could kind of – carry with her, whenever she needed a boost. And maybe, just maybe, she could help boost Cross, too.

Starlit filtered in from the window outside, the early dark suiting her just fine. Heart had insisted on sewing their 'costumes' themselves, a far cry from when Spades had shown up in a rainslicker and renfaire helmet, while Diamond had unveiled a brass knuckle (now, sadly, property of the fuzz).

Although Spades preferred making really cute and sweet food when it was just her, knowing Diamond's circumstances had - made her feel a bit lucky that she was so used to making dishes that could provide a lot of nutrition for a large group of people, maybe even help sober you up – anyway.

The scent of simmering stew drifting down from the attic always made her feel better, feel a bit brighter. Like, even when she wasn't a hero, she could –  
  
“Might not be able to make it tonight. Sorry. It's – “  
  
“don't worry. we've got this but u are always missed. isn't the same w/out u.”

Her fingers typed as quickly as they could; it took Cross minutes to reply.  
  
“Thank you.”

Cross had added something else, too; one last word, maybe a name. It was so – Cross was such a good person, and it was unfair that they had all this power now, and they couldn't even protect one person, but...  
  
When she'd first heard the call of the Starlight Sword, it'd been like _coming_ _home._ Like all the dreams she'd had, all the things she'd known to be true suddenly _were._

It wasn't magic; not everything could be changed, not everything could be made right.

But suddenly, she had the power to _try._

And maybe, with that power, she could finally put an end to tears – her own, and...

She could hear the hesitant knock on the door.   
It was incredibly rare for Diamond to be so timid, but she was always confident in life, and in combat.   
Always, that is, except for when Spades' father had greeted the door.

Oh, he hadn't been rude or – said anything he could've said, but...

“H, hey, come on in. There's cheap instant garlic bread with your name on it...”  
  
“I'm only worth cheap garlic bread, huh? I'm hurt, Spades. Nnf, oh, you were lying, huh – “

Diamond was wearing a shawl with a gilt pattern over it; it did a good job of hiding her costume, and also really suited her. She seemed excited, and ready to fight – maybe just glad that Spades' parents were out, which, even if they were _great_ parents, Spades could understand, too.

Bowing low, Spades extended her hand and smiled – a little wavily.  
  
“Your... Kingdom awaits! Take a seat, if you like. Mmn, uh, do you know – “

“She took a _power nap!_ A power nap, even if she's the leader, isn't that crazy?”  
  
Diamond let her shawl drop a bit, then hung it over a chair, easing back into it with a content sigh, and sniffing the rich scent of sauteed alliums.

“... You're an incredible cook, Spades.”

Even as her hand massaged the back of her neck, Spades was terribly happy to hear that. It was the sort of thing she – heard a lot from her parents, of course. Along with the retort of 'why don't you become a chef?' even as she tried to find a hook they might understand, like, the absolute inability of restaurants to turn profits.

It meant – entirely different things, coming from Diamond, who was only holding herself back from digging in by dint of her unshakable willpower.

Spades took pity and set out a tray of carefully plated raisins, pomegranate and sunflower seeds that she'd meant to be an appetiser. Diamond's lip wibbled, and she gave in.  
  
“Oh my GOD, Spades. I'm worried I'm gonna rely on you just for your culinary taste!”

“That's fine. Maybe you should be the leader, I've been – thinking...”  
  
“Pffft, the magical talking heart-stick said there's a point to all of this. But your loyal support is noted, my vassal! I'll grant you, uh... Is that punch?”  
  
“Blackberry wine. I'm not usually a, a fan, but for tonight...”  
  
They both went silent.  
For different reasons, probably.

Most of the villains they'd faced so far had been nothing more than weak, half-formed abnormalities. Heart's instructor, whatever entity spoke through that heart-shaped sceptre? It'd said the real ones were infinitely more worse, because they were infinitely more alien.  
  
And they'd be facing their first real challenge, _tonight._  
  
Resisting the urge to chew on her fingernails, Spades was all too glad when Diamond interrupted her thoughts, gesturing through a mouth full of seeds at one of the tacky prints on the wall.  
  
“Is that Miró?”  
  
“U, uh, I don't know. Who Miro is, sorry.”  
  
“Don't worry about it, you just looked like you could use a distraction. And it's not like I'm so self-involved I can't care for you, too.”  
  
 _Care for_ _**you,**_ _too, huh..._

Her wide smile must have been a bit much, because Diamond burst into laughter. After awhile, Spades laughed, _too._

“Thanks.”  
  
“Don't mention it, seriously. I'm just grateful you took pity on my poor, famished soul – “  
  
“HEY, EVERYBODY! Guess who's here?! It's magical girl!”

“A, _a_ magical girl.”  
  
Spades gently suggested as Heart nearly kicked down the door in her enthusiasm. She'd thrown on her uniform, which was remarkably similar to her _combat_ uniform. Spades had thought that was a bit much, but a puffy-cheeked Heart had insisted it was important.

“Ohhhhhhh, that smells so good... I'm gonna be brief before we dig in. This is gonna be the hardest battle we've ever faced. We're gonna be up against a Sade-class abnormality, but the peace and justice of humanity is on our side. No matter what, we can't afford to lose!”

Her gloved fists pounded the table; unlike most of what she'd designed, they'd been bought from a thrift-store, and she was weirdly attached to them. Spades felt they looked the _coolest_ when she transformed, but decided not to say as much, not when Heart was holding forth (and shaking the stew while she did).

“Even if the world is cruel, even if we lose the field today, we'll just get even stronger. But that can only happen if you both take care of yourselves! So, uhmn, let's all do our best!”

The cheery smile she had, and her sudden thumbs-up...  
  
“You're the best, Heart.”  
  
“Just like I always say, Heart's our heart!”

Spades and Diamond spoke up spontaneously, nearly cancelling out each others' heartfelt words. All three of them laughed, and Spades dutifully served up dinner, as the night drew in ever closer around them.

But like this, it was easy to pretend they were just friends; friends commiserating about how her parents always pressured her to join one of the sports teams, friends looking forward to the weekend tomorrow, friends she could look forward to knowing as she grew older.  
  
Friends she would do anything to protect.

“So anywhere, Crosh isn't souming?”  
  
Heart said, crunching into garlic bread aggressively.  
This girl, she could practically unhinge her jaw?!

“Y, yeah, sorry. I think she's – starting a new regime, now. Her muscle mass is nearly back to normal, so, that's...”  
  
“Good for her.”  
  
Diamond said, approvingly.  
  
“We should – I guess there's nothing we could get her that she wouldn't have access to, huh?”  
  
“She really liked it when you two sent her a birthday cake. Security on the ground confiscated it, but, the gesture was really nice – she said, anyway.”  
  
Even though she couldn't imagine the threat a _birthday cake_ could pose, it was just another reason why Cross was in a whole other league, compared to the three of them. Silence, but not unpleasant silence, reigned. Once more, Heart slammed the table.  
  
“We'll just send her TWO birthday cakes! With flowers, singing her name!”  
  
“On... On the cake? _How._ ”  
  
“Magic! If you can't use magic, what's the point of being a magical girl!? Anyhoo, it's probably possible with science if magic won't do the trick, so, I'll think of something, just watch me.”  
  
Foisting off the details, Heart smirked...  
And the clock struck nine.

Diamond sighed.  
  
“Time to go, then?”  
  
...  
  
Always, they started in secluded places.  
Deserted alleyways, ballparks that had long since seen their green fade away, or grow fecund.  
Once, an aquarium that had completely captivated Diamond – even as all the algae-infested tanks hung their grim trophies, preserved, behind glass...

Tonight was the first night they'd met in an open field.  
It was far away from the city they'd grown up in, but close enough to the roadway that Spades couldn't help but feel scared.  
  
What if somebody stumbled upon them? What would it look like?  
... Would they be able to protect people, before...

“In the name of love, and justice... The magical girl, Queen of Heart, is here!”

You couldn't describe what happened during the process to anyone; it was the first rule the Sword of Starlight had whispered to her. Even the process itself seemed... To an outsider, it might have seemed brutal.

The way the blunt sceptre multiplied, and multiplied, and multiplied, becoming blazons of blue light that ran through every atom of Heart's body until it shook, and fell to the ground like a ragdoll – only to be impaled by the sceptre itself, in a blinding flash.

When their eyes had adjusted, her long blue hair, the colour of a rising dawn, trailed behind her. Golden eyes like sunlight greeted them cheerfully, the purple snake she'd strung to the sceptre almost perfectly matching the dark purple hair ornament she'd manifested.

“And in the name of primordial hope... Diamond King joins the fight!”

Spades had wanted to say that she could work on it, make a joke – but the way the Miracle Gauntlet shook, before... _Evapourating_ Diamond and _devouring_ her, as if she were made of water...  
  
It was too much, even now, and she turned away.  
  
When she turned back, Diamond was hunched over, panting, and a little out of breath. Her hair was normally full of frisson, but had an elegant (and kingly?) curl to it that perfectly matched the golden sheen of her dress.

A reassuring smile told her that all was well, and Spades inhaled, deeply.

“And in the name of joyous starlight, this Knight of Spades shall serve until she dies!”

“Be less morbid next time – “  
  
Was all she could hear from Diamond before her vision _swam._  
It was as if the night itself had clung to her face like a veil, suffocating her. But the process was painful even as she fought the urge to choke, and retch, and fall to her knees.  
  
No, the _painful_ part was when tiny blue comets seemed to materialise in the shape of swords, and cut through the face she hated so much. Even then, it was fine, because if it was for the sake of her friends, and the people, and everyone who needed someone to protect them..!

She could feel her feet ground against the mud, but it was too much, and she fell into the muck, and the light disintegrated her entirely, until there was nothing left.

As always when that moment struck, it was like she was swimming in a sea of darkness.  
And as always, the darkness asked:  
  
 ~~_“Do you believe in justice?”_ ~~ _  
  
“Yes.”  
  
_ ~~_“You'll see.”_ ~~

When she awoke, there was the roar of a thunderclap, like a tiny singularity had shattered over her. Rising to her already tall height, she admired the nightblack pattern of gloves that crawled up to her arms; and her heart called, and the Sword of Starlight _came._

“All right, team. Let's go defeat the bad guys!”

Flying through the night sky was exhilarating; she'd always loved the night most of all, _her_ time, where she could be herself entirely _by_ herself, only now...  
Now she could even share it with friends.

The stars seemed to welcome them as they searched for their target; a Sade-tier threat should be radiating incredible energy, and even if it wasn't...  
  
<Am I late? Sorry, everyone.>  
  
Heart paused in midair, ribbons flouncing around her in a serpentine swirl as she clutched her hands together.  
  
“Ohmigawd, CROSS! Where are you?! It wasn't going to be the same without you!”

<Well... I thought I'd try providing mission support if I can't physically join you three. Can you all hear me?>

“Loud and clear, Cross. You sound great. How'd that college acceptance go?”  
  
<Terrible, Diamond. My grades weren't good enough, ahaha! But... I think it'll work out. Spades, are you well?>  
  
“Yeah. We just miss you, is all.”  
  
<... I'm glad. I've traced the abnormality and its energy signature to a mountain forest. I'll send you the coordinates...>

“You're the best, Cross! Eeeee, it's almost like you're right here with us!”

Heart continued to spin so much that Spades was a little worried she might keel over, but her clear-eyed expression made it equally clear that, despite her excitement, there was still only one thing on her mind...  
  
Justice.

It was a mountain area, miles and miles away from the city. It would have taken at least an hour to get to by road, and probably longer; Spades had never been good at math. But what immediately stood out was the cave; metal substructures making it clear this wasn't just some hikers' grove, but...  
  
<I think this was built during the war. My research shows that there's probably a lot of residual emotion still lingering. Please be careful.>  
  
“No matter what, we won't fail you, Cross.”  
  
Diamond murmured, already scanning for anything that could even look dangerous; but besides a sweetly murmuring swarm of bats gliding by them on the night breeze...  
  
“It's calmer than I thought.”  
  
Spades admitted.  
  
“Guess there's no choice but to land and explore on foot. Everyone, follow me! I'll take point!”

Heart sped towards the ground and landed with a crashing kick, knocking dirt and stone every which way, much to their laughter. Well, Spades hoped the damage wouldn't be too much for anyone to clean up, but – it helped take the edge off.  
  
And there _was_ an edge, all the more as they entered into the cavern itself.  
  
Dark umber lighting just barely illuminated the place, and it was clear that it had seen human occupants, recently. Or, perhaps... _Humanoid_ occupants.

Spades grit her teeth, and whispered the magical chant of the stars; a fragment of the universe responded with a quiet, indecipherable whisper in return, and gentle blue light dispelled the oppressive orange glow.

“No sight of the enemy. Nothing feels like they're present, either...”  
  
<Is that so? Could it be they've already left? Maybe they've left behind some kind of clue...>  
  
“This isn't some kind of detective story, Cross. We're not sleuths.”  
  
Diamond said, grinning cheekily.  
Hmn, the idea of being detectives sounded kind of fun –

_A metallic noise, as multiple layers of blast-door closed shut, so far behind them; and then the walls fell down, hard._

It was only a few moments before the memory of flight welled up inside of her, but in those precious moments, they'd been knocked down into some kind of subchamber, deep beneath the hungry earth. It was filled with machinery and devices she could not assign a purpose to, though some of them looked eerily familiar to the rudimentary robotics she'd seen designed by XX Corp...

<Very good, that should do it. Sorry, everyone.>

That was the last they ever heard from Cross; strange swab-like machines clumsily latched at various splotches of skin, retreating before they'd had a moment to properly figure out what just happened; and then...

Heavily armed men, wearing ceramic plating over the uniforms of XX Corp, _poured_ into the room. Some were wielding firearms, and others netguns, and others, stranger items still.  
  
“I, but – this...”  
  
Their leader was shaking. Heart couldn't seem to process what'd just happened, and didn't even move as several of the men approached her, cautiously at first, then with growing courage, and finally laughing and jeering as they clapped handcuffs over her.

Some stopped to take photos.

Even through her tears, the first of which were an opalescent white, Spades knew that wasn't enough. She wanted to say something, wanted to do something, wanted to know why, but all she could think of was

_not_

_again_

and the tears just kept coming, and she fell to the ground; leaning against the Starlit Sword as it buried itself deep within the earth.

Diamond had just sat there, numbly, when they'd tried to cuff her; but when they approached Spades...

_There was an incredible roar of energy as her gauntlet struck the first jailor. His head swelled and grew red as if stung by a hungry angry wasps, before exploding in a fine mist. Chunks of bone and fragments of colour she had never known to be part of a human anatomy struck everything, would be impossible to get out, would last forever._

_A horrible, terrible silence filled the room, and then everyone piled on Diamond; the guards firing rifles, and tranquiliser guns, and beating her with clubs; and for everyone she tossed aside, more appeared – along with the roar of machinery through some underground tunnel, as armoured vehicles sped towards them._

_Without thinking, it surged within her.  
The desire to protect. _

_Protect those you love._

_No matter the cost.  
  
_ _If you protect someone, you can never be wrong.  
No matter what you do. _

A thin blue line shivered ecstatic through the air. The afterimage hummed; there was a cosmic poetry to it, a perfect beauty. Then it pulsed, and unknown metal in the form of swords pierced every part of the enemy.

Diamond looked as if she didn't believe it as Spades stepped in front of her, but she'd always been used to taking blows from others, and if these people, these _monsters_ truly thought that was enough...

_But it wasn't enough.  
For every attack she deflected, every missile that Diamond caught and sent hurtling back, more men came. There seemed to be hundreds of them, and Spades could detect it, fragmented within them... _

_Perhaps in all of them._

_The familiar oily sheen of mental contamination, clinging to their minds – glittering, and enticing._

_No...  
They were going to die, here.  
Or be captured, here.  
  
It didn't matter.  
Nothing did – _

“Like that, huh? It's like that... I... Hate...”

As if a curtain had been drawn back, everything fell to a halt. You could feel it as if a needle, fallen against solid stone, had struck a match against the darkness.

The cheaply made handcuffs, far too little to restrain a grown man, let alone a magical girl, had still cut red imprints in her fair skin. Heart's face was hidden behind her hair, and for a moment, none could hear what she was saying.  
  
“All... Of... This...”  
  
Each word was quieter than the last, yet still impossible to ignore.  
One of the men in less armour, with a more significant presence, made some sort of hand-signal, a signal to retreat, but it was already _too late –_

“ _O' azure justice, the crimson love...”_

_Like the red dawn, the sun itself exploded throughout the underground. Just like the sun. And as men fused to machine, as their clothes and skin sizzled and popped and exploded, as the weeping and wailing and tears for mercy were denied, sparkling stars and soft colours laughed playfully around them._

_But still, they did not die, even as the energy within that terrible light intensified to a mirror of sunset; clumps of meat and skin that had been human beings melting and boiling against one another, unable to vocalise sounds as they burned, and burned, and burned, and burned, and burned themselves alive, until finally all her hatred spent like embers, and left, and the only thing left in that place were those three._

...  
  
Time passed, and she hadn't stopped crying. Even her tears were black now, but she finally managed to wipe them away. She – needed to check on her friends, somehow...  
  
But the magic enveloping them faded, then gently disappeared with a soft whisper, and she was herself, once more.

Even as she wanted to cry, she still had them to protect – and Diamond was sitting, cross-legged on the floor. Breathing slowly, trying to focus.  
Her eyes opened, and she managed to smile, but the first thing Spades noticed –  
  
“Your, your eyes – “  
  
“Are they bleeding or something?”  
  
“N... No...”  
  
“Then I'll be fine.”  
  
She knew it was lie, that none of them would be fine.  
But it was a comforting lie, and just like the lie that she might be able to protect them, she clung to it, tenaciously.

“I'm just... Hungry, right now. And... Heart..?”  
  
“All's okay. I'm okay! Where are we, though?”  
  
...

“Heart? Uh, are you... R, really okay...”

“Just fine. Ehehehe, I defeated a lot of weak bad guys, though, right?”  
  
“Geezus, Heart, you – “

“ _ **They deserved to be punished.”**_

Heart hadn't forgotten. Her smile wavered, like it was built on fragments. The dilation of her eyes seemed to pause, and her knees trembled. And then it was gone, and she smiled toothily, as if it had all been a great joke.  
  
“I mean, I forgot! I totally forgot. What I won't forget is... That sometimes... Even the people who pretend to be your friends... Are your **enemies.** And we have one goal, right?”

She wanted to reply with, 'to protect the people.' But...  
  
“T, to... Defeat **evil.** ”  
  
“Right, right! Well... We'll keep that up. Tomorrow. Tired! Sleepy. Let's get home, ladies. We could all use – a break.”  
  
It was just like that. They wouldn't discuss it, and it had come to an end.  
  
Following the cavernous track back to where it neatly hid an entry behind a rock outcropping, they walked the entire way home through a dark and starless night that she could find no solace in. But there was one thing, one thing she knew in her heart, even as she wanted to believe Heart's own comforting lie.  
  
This wasn't the ending;

It was only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, the _Knave_ of _Cross_ must be a villain, right? I'm actually not sure anyone else grew up hearing clubs referred to as crosses, and I doubted it, but apparently it's not unheard of... In Germany. Huh. Anyway, I'm keeping it, as I like the aesthetic value. Cross? Oh, she was just looking for a way to regenerate her health using magical-girl-serum or something, probably. Because of the setting, she succeeded, lived a full and happy life, and never once thought about her actions. The end, no moral. (lol)
> 
> I wanted to borrow the feeling of 90s' anime, more than anything. Kind of a Rayearth vibe ft. Sailor Moon. Lots of happy pastel colours and dark shading, with increasingly grim elements. Did I succeed? Hmn. There's plenty of modern stuff, too. Whether this takes place in 2003 or 2091 is up to you. It might also be an AU, since they use Aramaic instead of Hebrew lettering for tier classification, but it's kind of vague on whether these abnormalities are the same as the ones we're used to?..
> 
> Finally, if you're just joining in, I'll try not to have so many longer stories. I enjoy them, but I think drabbles are both easier to keep coming, and easier to drop in/drop out of, according to your tastes. On the other hand, if you like longer stories, lemme know!


	10. speaking like angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it Tiph A thinking about Tiph B, or Lisa thinking about Enoch......... hmn................. dot dot dot

so,   
what gives,  
anyway  
because  
far as I can say  
you seem to have  
forgotten  
your name  
  
don't pretend that climbing on  
piles of junk and atom bombs  
makes you the seventh son  
of a seventh son  
  
with all the ways  
you've been today  
and all the times I   
said goodbye  
while you were still writing  
hello  
  
building   
a tower  
(of words)  
  
you thought  
i could not  
understand;  
  
guess what  
now you're gone  
and now that you've left me here  
there's nothing else left,  
my dear  
oh sorry; am i being too kind?  
  
because what i meant to say  
is that you've been away  
and everyone else has  
forgotten  
a name  
  
so let me share with you  
what little else i can do  
  
or else  
let me sing  
you a song  
  
and you can write poetry  
decode mysterious symmetries  
in the meanings i did not intend  
  
or leave me behind again  
for that which i couldn't plan  
so that i can't say   
farewell  
  
but i'll cling to the name you had  
until the very end  
  
since that's what you'd do  
for a friend  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a suspicion that Tiph A has the best memory of her 'past' life besides maybe Hokma. My reasoning is too long-winded and boring to put into a chapter note, so instead... For the sound, please think Fight Like Apes + Cloud Cult, and that's how it rolls. The title is because Enochian is, and I quote, the ~language of the angels.~ Your mileage may vary. All I know is that I want to see an album of something with 'John Dee ft. Ed Kelley and the Star Chamber Gang' some day. Is that too much to ask?
> 
> Probably...


	11. yesod AND the viper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I told you they'd be loosely interconnected?
> 
> Yesod gets given a 'gift' as a 'prank.'  
> How he sees it, however...

"What is this?"  
  
It was the second time he'd asked. There was no point in repeating the question, and yet his curiousity had not been satisfied.  
The man standing in front of him. An employee, from the Disciplinary Team; not what he would have expected. Had he served in the Information Team, before?  
  
Yesod continued to stare into his eyes, waiting with what he felt was incredible patience for the employee to **explain.**  
Already, Yesod had come up with several distinct reasoninngs for the item that had been placed in front of him, and each was acceptable.  
But he wanted to hear the truth of it, so.  
  
"Employee 'W.' Correct?"  
  
"Well, I wasn't born with that name."  
  
For some reason, excess talk always calmed the employees down. It was exhausting, but if it brought an end to 'W' fiddling with his tie...  
Oh.  
  
"Do you want some help with that?"  
  
"I - sure?"  
  
Yesod wondered how it looked to W; if he was patiently striding over while showing him with human hands the differences in proper knots.  
The gross machinery at play in his own reality, however, made it feel even more crude, more disgusting.  
Still entirely worth it, of course. It was strange how many employees couldn't properly dress.  
  
"Very good. That looks much better."  
  
His satisfaction had disarmed W's nerves from earlier, and the young man looked - perhaps not radiant, but much more confident.  
Less insecure. He still could have stood to have more layers, but there was a dress code, and Yesod had trained himself not to question the rules.  
  
"Now. About that... Thing."  
  
The 'thing' in question was still sitting on his desk. It was a tiny purple snake, one that had clearly seen a great deal of wear throughout the ages.  
W laughed, a little weakly, and looked away.  
  
Ah.  
Yesod's eyes narrowed; in that moment recognising that he had been mistaken. It wasn't his own presence that had intimidate this man, but...  
  
"I'm sorry if it wasn't funny. My - Employee T. put me up to it, said that because of your, er, nickname, you might - react, you know. And just so you know, I agreed to it wholeheartedly."  
  
A small smile slipped across his lips, wavering and fading as he carried on.  
  
"But, one of the abnormalities we have in Disciplinary Team - that's where I found it."  
  
Fidgeting, W, put his arms on the table to steady them, staring intently at the torn plush fabric. Yesod was no Excavation Team researcher; he couldn't say if it was ten years old, or ten thousand, preserved by some lucky turn of fate. It neither mattered to him, nor was of interest.  
  
He already had employee W's information up, on the inside of his retina. None of it was surprising; the upper-middle class upbringing in the Nest, a life where he'd only occasionally known starvation, and had been constantly cautioned about the dangers of the world. His attempts to get into E Corp as a researcher, failed. His application to that archival society; failed, as well. At the end, the only place that took him in was Lobotomy - because Lobotomy always took in whatever they needed, precisely when they needed it.  
  
"The entity, O-01-04, used to have it tied to her... I'm gonna go with her broomstick. Witches use broomsticks, right?"  
  
"I couldn't possibly say."  
  
"Anyway, it fell off once, and she completely ignored it."  
  
"So you stole an item from an abnormality? That doesn't seem to match your prior conduct."  
  
Yesod wanted to say that it wasn't logical, but he'd processed so many employees, studied so many human emotions that he knew it was _entirely_ logical. The reason was just something he hadn't found yet.  
So he stared, and waited. W was no longer nervous, but quiet. He kept - tapping at his knuckle, thinking about things.  
Perhaps - sorting it out, in his head.  
  
"She - the entity in question was becoming agitated by item #8's presence. It was making it harder to interact with entity O-01-04, so I removed it from her - its containment facility. She seems to have forgotten about the entity, so, I think it's probably for the best."  
  
"Abnormalities can't forget, you know."  
  
Yesod mused, quietly.  
  
"But, then again, I probably would have done the same."  
  
"You - would have..?"  
  
"Mmn. It's only rational to try to set conditions that make it easier to work with abnormalities, and create a safer environment for your colleagues."  
  
"Right."  
  
He fidgeted; Yesod watched, and waited.  
Then, W coughed, and frowned, and adjusted his glasses. It was interesting watching employees work through their emotions - how it held them back, and how it changed them.  
  
"Except that's not what I did it. I mean, yes, I'm glad for making a better atmosphere for my colleagues. Certainly. It just seemed a little sad, and I suppose I'm not a Sephirah, and that probably wasn't the best reason for - snatching it, you know. It just seemed like all it was doing was making her condition worse, and Employee S was talking about sedation..."  
  
"He was?"  
  
Interesting; W stopped, smiled nervously - glanced over his shoulders once, and then twice.  
But of course, a Sephirah's office might as well be their citadel.  
  
"Yes, well. Surely it was discussed among the Sephirot?"  
  
"Mmn. Well, you can tell your colleague that your prank was successful and my reaction was amusing. We're done here."  
  
"And what about it?"  
  
"What about what?"  
  
Once more, W's eyes slid to the stuffed toy. Yesod's cognition frowned, pulled at his gloves, and steepled his hands together.  
Staring - unblinking.  
  
The employee didn't flee, which was surprising, but he did leave after Yesod made it clear no more conversation would be forthcoming.  
Which left the two of them...  
  
Behind the mirror of the cognition filter, a metal box staring intently at a ruined plush snake must have seemed unusual. What would the proper protocol have been?..  
  
Once, there had been two button eyes, most likely. It appeared one was gone.  
Once, it had been filled with stuffing. Likely cheap liner or down of some kind.  
Once, it appears someone had added a strap or charm to it, so that it could be hooked to devices.  
Once, there must have been someone that loved this, very much.  
  
...  
  
"Hmph. No one is going to come back for you, like that. How fortunate that your path has brought you to me."  
  
It wasn't a 'skill.' He wouldn't consider himself _'skillful.'  
_ But, anyone who hated prying eyes as much as he did would be wise to learn a bit of handicraft, and it wasn't as if he had lacked the time to do so...  
  
 _Snip,_ went the scissors, cutting through excess cloaks and strips of cloth he wouldn't need. They'd make for excellent patches.  
Careful needlework repaired the cuts and wounds that tore at the belly of the serpent.  
... And, a cloak here, because cloaks were cool. Perhaps some more coverings here, so that it was - decent...  
  
Yesod was so engaged in his work, he was almost caught off guard by the rapping at his door. His sensors were usually accurate to sounds to their speed.  
It would've been embarrassing, but he was never embarrassed. Replying to the distinctively enthusiastic knock with a terse _come in,_ he put the finishing touches on the snake.  
  
Malkuth must have looked like an excitable, sociable young lady to the human employees of this place.  
He wondered if their attitudes would have changed at all if they knew the truth of it; perhaps not, for humans were strange.  
As to himself, seeing Malkuth fall from where she'd been bouncing to knock at the door, clipboard in hand...  
  
It was annoying, but not unwelcome.  
  
"Hello there, Yesod! It was unusually hard to reach you. I sent you an inter-office memo, you know!"  
  
"You did?"  
  
"Mmn-hmn! No worries, though, _everyone_ gets distracted from time to time. Why, I'd be an awful hypocrite if I said I didn't!"  
  
He frowned, even if it was imperceptible amongst machines.  
  
"All intelligent beings are hypocrites, from time to time. Now, could you state why you've interrupted me?"  
  
"I... What is that?!"  
  
Oh, right. He'd left it on the table, and even if it was illogical, he was incredibly proud, so it was fine.  
The purple stuffed toy didn't look 'as good as new.' He'd repaired it and restored it to good condition, however, given it a tiny grey cloak, a flowery broach, and - since it had only still had the one eye - made it look purposeful.  
Kind of cool, if you asked him. Very cool, and that was a logical statement.  
  
So.  
Why was Malkuth shaking and rattling with laughter?  
  
"Very nice work there, Yesod. Amazing... Hehehehe... One-eyed snake you've got going!"  
  
Oh.  
 ** _no._**

Yesod was ~~never~~ embarrassed.  
Faceplate falling into metal hands, he sighed (perhaps a little dramatically).  
  
"Don't tell me you have a button on hand?"

"I always have a button on hand! There there, I might have made the same mistake!"  
  
"Please don't humour me. How's Hod?"  
  
"Oh, she's okay. We really shouldn't have gotten her so excited about that, ehe, fight night, though. I think she felt she was being included for once, you know?"  
  
"Is she ever not included?"  
  
"People aren't always so rational, Yesod! Anyway, I dispute rationality. There! What a cute snake!"  
  
Malkuth had - at least - lived up to her mantra of being _always prepared!_  
This time, at least. The spare button was white, rather than black, but a mismatched and heterochromatic snake, wearing grey wraps and a flowery brooch...  
Still cool, Yesod decided, and not... In any way... Sexual.  
  
All was well.  
  
"But, ehe, I did kind of overhear what was going on..."  
  
"You snooped in, you mean."  
  
"Mmn-hmn! That's the job of Control!"  
  
"And you decided to make fun of me? No wonder nobody respects you."  
  
"I respect myself, and self-care is all I need! But I was wondering. What are you going to _do_ with this?"  
  
The question might well have been a good one.  
It wasn't as if there was any hope for abnormalities, their goal was not to repair the mental contamination that abnormalities possessed, or even study them.  
All of that was secondary to one, overarching corporate goal - harvest energy.  
  
Yesod's singular violet eye stared intently at the forlorn serpent.  
  
It must have spent a long time on its own.  
Forgotten, or not.  
  
"Obviously, I will be taking care of it until the owner is ready to reclaim it. Storing lost property is also the role of the Information Team."  
  
"I see! Did Angela tell you that!"  
  
"Hmph. It's written into the bylaws, Angela hardly cares about those."  
  
Quietly huffing to himself, he felt fairly secure in his pronuncement; and Malkuth didn't push the issue further.  
She seemed - satisfied, he decided, and so long as she wasn't going to make this an issue...  
  
"Thanks for asking about Hod, Yesod. I know she'd appreciate it. Aaaaaaany chance you're going to ask about Netzach?"  
  
"You can stop slacking and return to your work, now."  
  
The focused purple glare following her tittering tin can as she left might have had some effect, but - he felt, honestly, rather peaceful.  
His gaze returned to the snake on his desk, and he let shutters obscure his visual sensors. The room faded to black, a darkness not linked to memory.  
Over time, people interrupting his sanctuary stopped noticing that the animal was even there, because after something becomes familiar - it might as well not exist.  
But there it remained, until the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter one for today because I have some RL obligations.  
> But I wanted to have an excuse to show that the stories really are loosely interconnected, so, here we are.  
> I assume the cognition filter is always up for the Sephirot at all times on common employees, although I also feel that the cognition filter is never on in regards to abnormalities; after all, if the fear the staff feels when beholding [CENSORED] isn't real, how are we gonna get any of that energy?
> 
> Anyway, this is all building up to the alternate ending where everyone is happy. I'm sure that cherished ending will arrive any day, now.


	12. enkephalin dream [some violence, some bodyhorror, sad hod being cruel to herself]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hod answers the age-old question about whether androids dream...  
> Not that any of the Sephirot qualify as androids, really.

_You need to check on the abnormalities, Hod.  
Someone needs to make sure that everything is working, Hod.  
Hod. Some problems came up. Take care of them. _

When night fell, and most of the employees went home, the empty hallways embraced their true form; tombs of metal around metal sarcophagi, guarded by the same silica skeletons that had been buried amongst them.

She couldn't remember the full details, but it seemed... It felt as if she had been asked to take care of something, by someone, and she'd forgotten.  
  
It probably didn't matter how fuzzy her mind was. Someone was counting on her, and that was enough.

Humming tunelessly down the same abandoned facilities, she felt a bit better. Sure, her frame was a bit worn-down, and everything from last night felt like _sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss_ but that was hardly important, just like she was!  
  
Above her, something was dripping. Rainwater?  
Perhaps a flood, from the overworld. The surface, that was the word! Someone had rained so hard on the surface, that a deluge was pouring down into the earth! But, then, why weren't the flood protection alarms going off? The manager would know what to do. (Unlike Hod.) And yet, she almost wished she had feet, so she could kick her shoes off and dance through...  
  
Through...

No puddles were present, and even though the dripping sound hadn't stopped, she could still hear it, perceive it, _feel_ something dripping down her spine. She still felt she had a spine, still felt she was _human,_ even if she wasn't the human she remembered. And the sensation of water, like cold fingertips... But it wasn't water, it wasn't present, and it sure wasn't coming from the surface.  
  
“So, what is it... An abnormality?!”

What a terrifying thought – and she shivered, her antenna flailing from right to left. She couldn't detect anything, but there were some abnormalities you simply couldn't detect. Maybe it was already present.

And yet... She didn't feel like it was an abnormality, either.

It almost felt as if she'd figured it out, when she heard a light and rhythmic sound coming from one of the containment facilities. Being a machine, she was probably immune to being bewitched or enchanted, and her natural curiousity was fine, as long as she didn't open the facility, right?  
  
Hod stood in front of a cold iron door, in a hallway overcome with a dripping sound she couldn't shake, present in the faint memory of her inner ear. Curiousity won out, and she entered the door.

Three entities were inside, gathered around a small foldable mat. One was a giant bird, feathers black and puffy, soft and downy. All its eyes were closed, and it was snoring, slightly. Another was a very tiny bird, red breast puffed up with pride and anger. And finally...

_[hello machine – are you lost]_

She knew it was a voice that, if she'd had actual ears, ears of meat, blood would have been pouring from within. It wasn't a voice it was a _sound,_ echoing and terrible and entirely unintelligible, all cawing screeches and howls, that rewired itself until your brain was forced to interpret it as words in a language you understood.

More surprising than that, however, was that she looked – and felt – entirely human.

Hod felt like crying as she stared at her hands, held in front of her face. They were not the hands she remembered having, but the hands she felt she should have; slightly swollen, with the cuts and scratches from her mistakes and fumbles, the same ones Malkuth had chided and Yesod had shook his head in disbelief at.

She had a nice suit, just like all the employees here. It was comfortable and a bit tight and not what she would have chosen to wear, but it was hers and belonged solely to her. And she had hair! _Hair!_ And it was long and flowing and _soft!_

Fighting back a sniffle, she shook her head, not her mainframe.

“I, uhmnnnn... I'm not lost! I came here to check on you three. How are you all doing? Is this facility comfortable?”

“ **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA IT'S COMFORTABLEEEEEEEEEEE”  
  
** Expelled the little bird with terrible force, and Hod giggled a bit. Petting it was strictly prohibited, but oh, it would have been nice, she was certain.

_[as you can see we have no complaints – sit, join us]_

Implored the bandaged-wrapped bird, and she didn't protest. The floor was comfy, too! Practically plush, which seemed _sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss_ out of line with how things were supposed to be. And the containment unit stretched on for miles, but that was hardly important right now.

“So what's this game you're playing? It looks fun...”  
  
Hod suggested, wistfully. The suggestion wasn't spoken, but implicit; play with me. Look at me. Include me, somehow. Just for a moment.

Blood soaked through old bandages as the bird's scales rattled, back and forth.

_[it is a pointless game to kill time, machine, and you are already playing]_

“I am? I wouldn't suppose you might have a rulebook, or, something I could use to get up to speed, I'd hate to drag you down!”

She might have wagged her tail, if she had one. The tiny bird was aggressively attacking the larger one, in a way that was only cute because the cognition filter interpreted it as such, pecking and pecking and pecking with such force one wondered how it's beak didn't break in half.

The tallest bird sighed. It did not sound like a sigh. It sounded like dry air, expelled from a dying tree, and amplified by the metal clang of scales tipping right.

_[but isn't that what you DESERVE]_

And slowly, the judge removed their bandages.

Hod fell screaming through the floor as the caustic surface ate into her skin, the dripping sound now present everywhere. Strangely, she felt no pain where she should have, only pain in the back of her mind. It felt as if she was standing over herself, screaming at herself, pecking at herself like a little bird she'd forgot the name of –  
  
Crunch.  
  
It was a feeling as much as a sound, her battered frame hitting solid metal stronger than herself.  
Damage assessment seemed to indicate she was fine, and all systems were performing _sssssssssssssssssssssssss_ optimally, save those that were on fire.

Ah, yes.  
Fire.  
  
Hod didn't panic, but calmly begin to extinguish the flames with a smile on her face. Actually, she couldn't smile. She had been designed not smile. Machines could not smile. She couldn't feel happy even when she felt happy. It was right, of course. A wise decision.

“Excuse me.”  
  
Said a floating sphere, chromatic and perfect in every way.

“You killed me, Hod.”  
  
Your Baldur spoke directly into her mind, as well. She tried to remember why she was laughing, but it was someone else's memory, not hers. Your Baldur made a chiming sound akin to laughter, and sliced its own head in half. Hmn! She hadn't expected that.

The floor below her tines was now marshland. Marshland rich with algae and fish and bones. The bones reached up to her, the bones of her predecessors. They were gross, and she didn't want to feel them, to acknowledge them in anyway, and she wanted to be _saved,_ so she called out to the wide world for a savior.

Artificial lights (had their been light at all, before) flickered out. One by one. Until only a circular sphere of warm white light embraced her.

Hod fell to the marshy ground, clung her waldo-unit arms to herself in a weak hug, and continued to whisper a plea for help that she knew wouldn't be answered, because she did not deserve it.  
  
Sound, like the click of a stagelight, illuminating a distant closed cubicle, walled off by glass.

Inside, the vague figure of a man, eyes undercut by dark shadows; a man who hadn't slept in weeks, who hadn't eaten in weeks, who was dead in every way but had clung to life through something as tenacious as hate, or hope. His head lay in his hands. He barely moved, and did not acknowledge her pleas at all, even as she spoke them louder, the horrible spectre of hope having infested her, as well.

Perhaps it should have been impossible to swim to such a distant place, through the marsh of her own corpses. Perhaps she should have given up, but she didn't. Even as the rotting things that resembled her past clawed up at her, she pushed past them, because she had to! Because she had to!  
  
And so they were forced back down into the swamp, until she was treading water and pounding against the glass barricade between her and that man. But he refused to answer, or even look her way, and she _knew_ he could hear, but was choosing not to listen.

Her tears fell, and the tide swelled, and she had to swim higher just to keep parity. The ceiling was pressing down on her, but still she kept flailing at the glass.

Finally, he sighed, and removed his head from his hands.

“Do you really think I'd help any of you, when you're all complicit in her death?”

Then, he cut a hole in the glass with his hands, stepped into the tide, and slowly suffocated in front of her as she watched – powerless, always powerless.

Water overwhelmed her senses, but there was no way out for her.  
Unlike that man, she couldn't terminate herself, couldn't even forget until the data started to blur and become fuzzy. She was trapped, in this prison, forever, because she deserved it.

“Help me...”  
  
She said unintelligibly, her pleas engulfed by air bubbles.

And perhaps that might have been the end of it, if it weren't for a slash of golden light, and the water draining and evapourating around her. Hod fell to the ground, landing on a rolled parchment that disappeared as she fell.

Before her was a human woman, beautiful and elegant, with terrifying eyes.

“Do I know you?”  
  
Hod asked, knowing the answer already.  
  
“Mmmn, to be rescued and ask such a terrible thing of your savior... Needy people are worse than dogs, wouldn't you say?”  
  
“No! No, no, I'm so terribly sorry, I didn't mean it, I'll do anything to be saved – “  
  
“Quite obviously. You swam all that way, after all. Proved you had the spark of life. I was impressed.”  
  
“I.. Did? You were?”

Even though she was stuck in the horrible shell of a body, Hod felt... Weirdly embarrassed and somehow diminished.

Sighing dramatically and running her fingers through her short black hair, the woman leaned forward and tapped at Hod's faceplate.  
  
“Don't make me repeat myself. Repetition is death, after all. Oh, and I can't save you! I wouldn't if I could, either.”  
  
“But you just said..!”

“I say many things. My mood changes as **I** wish. You'd be much healthier if you were more like me. Anyway, I took some small pity on you, and I'm going to guide you to someone who can help you help yourself. Follow, or don't – it's up to you.”

Without another word, but a theatrical twirl of her cloak, the shade left.  
Hod only hesitated a little, metal tines tapping along the paved road they walked.

Around them, a great desert full of white sand shone in every direction.  
  
“Is this heaven?”  
  
Wondered Hod, and her companion paused, laughing like a hyena, before a misty gleam made her eyes seem almost white.

“There is no heaven. No hell, either. Anyway, this is just another place; I guess you could say it's whatever you prophesize it to be. Do you have a prophecy to share with us, machine..?”  
  
“I'm – trying...”

“And that will be good enough.”  
  
Her companion had never existed, perhaps; there was no one at her side. Hod wanted to cry again, but she pressed on, even though the road itself had disappeared as well. Grains of sand seemed to filter through her skin meshed with metal, coarse and almost undetectable. Another drip? Where was it _coming_ from, she was starting to get _angry –_  
  
Oh!  
Oh..!  
  
“Netzach! Netzach, Netzach, Netzach, thanks GOODNESS... _Ew._ ”  
  
Lying in a puddle of his own vomit, Netzach had been cannibalised by larval flies. They had hollowed out his metal exterior, and were living within it quite comfortably. It was very gross, but despite all of it, he seemed to be alive, and waved a metal 'hand' at her, weakly.  
  
“Heyo, Hod. I hope you weren't counting on me to help you.”  
  
“But, I...”  
  
“Oh, there's no escape. Which is why you're here, right? Why we're here.”  
  
“I've come, so far...”  
  
“Come on, we both deserve it. Don't even try to fight it. Just lie down here. If you're creeped out by the bugs, I figure vultures'll be along, soon. Vultures are cool, right? A bit less, you know. Grody.”  
  
She knelt in the sand, and it seemed to rise around her.  
Just like the water _sssssssssssssss_ what the HELL was that dripping sound, she was getting **furious** –

“Hey, no, Hod, whatever you do, don't...”  
  
Cold water splashed in her face for the umpteenth time, and Hod fell to the floor with a dull metallic clang. When her blinking LED had stopped spinning (in time with her antenna), she looked up – right into the incredibly grim face of the most terrifying entity in the facility.  
  
“Hi... Angela...”

“Did you know that the only effective way to remove Enkephalin from machines is application of water? It's an interesting fact. One of many I know.”

“Phew, she's finally back amongst the living. I can't believe it. Uh, don't tell anyone, but I was starting to get worried.”  
  
For a minute, she saw Netzach leaning against the wall, smiling. But of course, he was just another metal jar, much like her.  
  
... But he wasn't a corpse, either.  
  
She breathed in deep, even if it was just a fake sensation simulated by various apparatuses.

“Thank you, Angela. I'm sorry to not be a model employee.”  
  
“Oh? Unusual. Noted, but it's no trouble. I'm here to supervise everyone in this facility. I take pleasure in my task.”  
  
Her smile was always quite thin; it might have well as been stretched to a razor's edge.  
  
But, her eyes opened, ever-so-slightly.  
  
“Please refrain from indulging in illicit use of company power again, in the future. Even I only have so many moments in a day, you know. I can't imagine what it would be like to dream, but I can imagine it must be terrible.”  
  
Hod wanted to reply, but Angela bobbed her head slightly, and disappeared.

...

“Look. It's my fault. I'm the only person here who really gets it, Enkephalin, I mean. Those guys thought it was a light-hearted thing, and... I was a pushover. I should've said something.”  
  
She could _hear_ the self-excorciation in Netzach's voice.  
She didn't blame him at all, not the real him, not even a little.  
There was only _one_ person she blamed.  
  
“Don't worry about it, Netzach. It was my fault in the first place. Anyway, I have a question, to better understand Enkephalin in the future!”

Machines shouldn't be able to tense up.   
They were just dumb metal things, golems without words, designed to be pale imitations of humanity.   
Even still, Netzach froze in place, and she could sense the hesitation, which meant she had to ask fast.

“Is it... Always like that? Always – punishing you, and bringing you down, and making you see the parts of yourself you don't want to see, over and over again?”

Netzach folded metal arms in front of his chestplate, the mechanical equivalent of a grimace.  
Green enkephalin residue shone from crevices within. And she wondered if water would've washed it out, if Angela might have laughed and suggested there wasn't enough water in the ocean to fix Netzach...

“Yeah. All the time. Always.”  
  
His green 'eye' blinked out, leaving his LED blank.  
If she'd had fingers, they might have shook.  
  
“When can you get me more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still better than a karmotrine dream, probably.
> 
> Honestly, this was hard for me to write because making Hod sad(der) is kind of like kicking Nothing There. You feel awful, even if it's important for the story itself.  
> Obviously, I don't agree with any of Hod's inner thoughts, it's just how I imagine she feels.  
> On that note, as to why A doesn't help her, but That Woman does...
> 
> It's complicated. I'd say that 'Hod' probably saw what she did as the start of a potential escape, from many things.  
> Hod isn't Michelle, and those memories are almost meaningless. But perhaps she saw things in whomever that was that she wished she could have in herself, even just a little bit.
> 
> Because the ending makes me a little glum, too, the next piece is very self-indulgent. Please feel free to skip it.


	13. LEDs and Lobotomies [crack pen n' paper au cliffnotes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character notes for a theoretical universe in which, at the bare minimum, some people find relief in a tabletop gaming group.  
> This is fine, right? It's A03, so even this level of self-indulgence is fine?  
> Rather than an actual chapter, just consider this the author messing around.

**The place:** Daniel's apartment. It's not as high above the city as some, but it's probably better than anything the rest of the cast will ever own. It isn't very large, because Daniel doesn't spend a lot of time there. So long as he's got room for premium synthetic coffee grounds and the real deal (rare! you have to buy these direct from hydroponic gardens!), all is well.

There's plenty of room for people to game though, and several different tables, as well as one of those fancy artificial waterfalls. A painting on the wall changes to show various abstract landscapes. Nobody but Daniel appreciates this painting. As to the tables, the largest is pure glass, with a terrarium inside. The plants are all artificial; Daniel doesn't have a green thumb, and is mildly concerned that if he added isopods, they'd find their way into his coffee grounds...

Being wealthy, he has access to all the neat stuff a player could hope for. Being laid-back, regardless of his attitude, his players are free to take whatever they want... As long as they're careful with it, if you please?  
  
It means fancy dice with LEDs, maps, miniatures, plenty of spare odds and ends for inspiration, and paper for do-overs.  
  
There are plenty of comfortable chairs, most in a faux-art-deco style that is a little bit pompous, but comfortable enough. After some complaints, he bought comfier beanbag chairs, as well as a few more basic wooden ones. As the gamemaster, his own chair is incredibly comfy and has wheels, so that he can wheel around and peer at players' character sheets while ominously sipping coffee.

Neither his television set or sound system are especially modern, but he has a few games and boardgames for when the energy dies down. And, as mentioned, beyond the gamemaster's screen (a bit of cardboard holding up a men's fashion magazine so that he can look busy), he _always_ has a mug of hot coffee on hand.

 **The gamemaster;  
  
** **Daniel:** Daniel took the hobby of running tabletop games from his previous workplace. Nobody really appreciated it, and the current group fell into meetings somewhat by chance. It was originally just a way to kill time for him; another hobby he paid a little bit of interest to, but let languish.

Over time, he's come to truly value the game, and, perhaps, his players.  
  
Neither the most skilled GM nor the most knowledgeable of the rules, what makes him a good GM is his laid-back attitude. He never raises his voice or gets particularly pent-up, and is _excellent_ at reading the energy level of his players... Especially the younger ones, which is amusing given that he absolutely had no idea how to handle them at first.

He never uses any real voice for his characters, so players have a bad tendency to jokingly refer to them all interchangeably as 'Daniel.' He takes it in stride though, and has gotten better about giving them interesting personalities; what really interests him, however, are overarching plots that make the players buy into some threat or challenge that only they can solve.

Originally, the only people he really knew were the 'legendary' players, but he's warmed up to the entire cast over time, shifting from a kind-if-detached detente to asking little questions about how they've been before properly starting any sort of gaming session.

 **Character/Characters:** As the primary gamemaster, Daniel doesn't really play any one character. But he does have favourite archetypes, usually preferring to saturate his worlds with decent people weighed down by the weight of their obligations or jobs. His villains are often villains of circumstance, rather than truly evil people, and he dislikes standard alignment rules.  
  
When he's roped into playing, Daniel is a lot more nervous. He'll usually play a supportive class, something that can help the rest of the team and do as little as possible, while muttering _I see,_ or _I'll_ .. and trailing off behind a long swig of coffee. It's not because he's nervous about playing, but that someone will usurp his role as the GM, his fancy chair, and perhaps even his personal coffee mug.

After he gets into a role, though, he enjoys being sly, dry humour, and ribbing other players.. As long as nobody's feeling personally attacked in anyway.

 **Snacks:** Coffee. That's it. Until others appeared, he literally only ate and drank coffee. How did he survive.

**Quirks:**

  * Uses his mug to hide an evil smile whenever somebody wanders into a trap. His eyes sparkle though; you can still tell something is about to happen.

  * Doesn't understand why people are so interested in his apartment. Doesn't everyone live like this?

  * Good at ramping up tension without killing off or harming players. Especially good at keeping an eye on Gabriel's separation of game/reality while Gabriel is still trying to understand this whole roleplaying thing.

  * Even though his first reaction was '??? children why', has started buying more stuff for Lisa and Enoch to mess around with if sessions go on too long, or they've had a long day.

  * Tries to matchmake various characters in the settings, usually leading to groans and protests from the players, especially when there's no connection at all. Has a melodic laugh when it actually works.

  * Very occasionally falls asleep on the table. Reaction may vary depending on who finds him.




**The players;**

**Elijah:** The penultimate social gamer, Elijah initially had no interest in actually _playing_ the game, or really, any game. Flitting around the table, Elijah's primary interest was checking up on all her friends and colleagues, asking how they'd been, cheering them on, taking pictures... Selfie, dessert, badly done latte art (@ daniel's place!), thigh pic...

But the more time she spent actually playing, the more involved she became. She loves the whole fantasy-being-someone-else aspect, and gets the rules just fine, but actually roleplaying? Eeeeeeeh! It's more fun to just do what she feels like at the moment! Which meant that her initial characters had the highest creation-to-casualty ratio amongst the players, but she never let it get her down. Her cheery attitude and jokes have led to the (rare) incidence of player death early on being called 'pulling an Elijah.'

Although she still mostly enjoys gaming as a means to have fun socialising, it's become an important method of stress relief for her; since Elijah can let her metaphorical hair down, and be petty or catty as she likes without actually hurting anyone's feelings. If she messes up, fumbles roleplaying, or just isn't feeling it... That's okay. It becomes a character trait, and maybe a story for a later day.  
  
She still really wants to know how you've been doing, though?! Don't leave out any details!

 **Character/Characters:** After having cycled through pretty much every character combination possible, Elijah favours social heroes. Usually some kind of magic-user who can lockdown the enemy, or provide support to the party. She doesn't exactly _roleplay,_ and doesn't usually come up with the most creative character, but she puts **500%** heart into every interaction they have. It's pretty great.

She likes to accumulate prestige and power, and is always willing to follow Daniel's plot hooks if there's a chance she'll get something neat out of it. Although she's always willing to drag the party forward if nobody has a better idea, she prefers interacting with NPCs and building up deep relationships to her character.  
  
If somebody wants to create a character who knows another character, she loves building pre-existing history and backgrounds with friends, and some of the best banter around can be had by teaming up with Elijah and deciding that the two of you worked on that one fishing schooner, before becoming adventurers...

 **Snacks:** Candy. Loads and loads of storebought candy. Always has something sour to chew on. When she realised Daniel had literally no food, she rolled up her sleeves and can make a pretty mean casserole! She doesn't really _like_ cooking though, so it's great there are so many talented people, here?

**Quirks:**

  * Always chewing on her pen or pencil. You can tell how bad the situation is for the players by how intently she's biting it. It flips dramatically to the table when she's ko'd.

  * Uses Daniel's object synthesiser to 3D-print her own miniatures, rather than try her hand at character art; “I'd just make a mess of things!”

  * Claims she is 'besties' with Michelle & will protect her. Has occasionally used Michelle's characters to test for traps. (But always makes amends with candy.)

  * Reacts the best. “OH NO! A _SPIKE PIT!_ ”

  * Will braid your hair if you let her. Actually, might even if you don't let her.

  * Occasionally uses Daniel's ancient television to catch up on reruns.

  * Doesn't understand modern-based games, like the ones where you're a spy, or a superhero? They're just kinda boring. But boardgames, those are cool!

  * Flirts with the entire party. Flirts with the enemy. Flirts with death.

  * Will not tolerate it if players aren't taking care of themselves! Drink water and go right home if you have a cold!




**  
Gabriel:** Getting him to join was like drawing blood from a stone. Games are things you play alone, as a challenge. Someone had to explain the social aspect to him, and though he understood it _rationally_ it just seemed like a lot of effort for little reward?

At first, he was incredibly sour and refused to emote at all, constantly batting at his forehead as if suffering from endless migraines. He'd read the rules back and forth, but couldn't see the rest of the players as their characters, let alone conceive of a fantasy world.

But between Giovanni, Michelle, and 'that _OTHER_ layabout,' he's slowly found that roleplaying is actually incredibly enjoyable. It allows him to let his mask down in a controlled, cultivated environment, where his friends won't judge him for a lapse in judgment or a moment's weakness. He can be as removed or passionate as he likes, and at the end of the day – his friends will remain his friends.

He still _claims_ not to enjoy it that much, but often arrives early, with all his things prepared.

 **Character/characters:** Only plays magic-users. Despite preferring the idea of a controlled wizard who has to memorise their spells in advance, he usually plays spontaneous casters because they're 'more powerful.' His characters are often somewhat spartan and dryly described; their outfits, on the other hand, require a separate sheet.

Speaking of which, he rarely wastes time emoting, but that doesn't mean he doesn't roleplay... He just has two settings. Quiet, insular, and a little snarky, and _LOUD_ and **_HAMMY_**. The former sulks in pubs and joins with the party out of self-interest, the latter whispers “this blade is steeped in sorcerous strength...” and expects to be taken seriously.  
  
Not one to interact with NPCs, generally; he sometimes picks one character to have a deep, thought-out relationship (of any kind) with. He prefers to intrigue with the players, in the hope of eventually being strong enough to challenge whatever divinities the setting has. Games are still a challenge; just one you tackle with friends.

 **Snacks:** He's not really good at providing snacks, and feels a bit inadequate about it. He's getting some help, but in the meantime, tries to bring dried fruits and trail mixes.

**Quirks:**

  * Protective of Elijah, perhaps because of her many deaths. It isn't reciprocated, and one of the few things that can get a non-sarcastic laugh out of him is Elijah inevitably betraying him in some way – in-game, of course!

  * In general, looks out for the players. Constantly checking for hidden traps, hiding foes, and enemies, lurking... In the shadows..!

  * Enjoys modern settings, too. Especially enjoys horror, though he's not a fan of gore or violence, especially when it relates to disease. Daniel always takes this into consideration.

  * _Dramatic_ Gabriel is a hoot, and usually gets the whole table in laughter. But he has his moments being serious, too, one at least that left the table without a dry eye.

  * Loves boardgames. Surprisingly, not very good at them? Or perhaps he's just always willing to lose, if it makes the kids happy...

  * When he shows up late, something's usually up. It means a lot if somebody asks him about it; and somebody always does.

  * If you get him and 'the couch monster' going, you might as well just consign yourself to the fact the game is now a comedy.

  * Sighs and just shakes his head whenever Elijah charges head-first into, for example, a spike pit.

  * Constantly asking Kali to make characters with more, you know, _coverage._ If you please.

  * Even though he can't express it, knowing he's welcome means the world to him.




**  
Michelle:** She had a _terrible_ experience with gaming before, and is just, in general, not sure she's good enough? But she really wants to be good enough, and wouldn't mind being – seen being good enough, so she let Elijah bully her into coming?  
  
Nobody knew that a powerful demon would be born, that day. When her powerful inner darkness is unleashed, the entire world should be wary of the name Mic **hell** e and tremble!

As it turns out, Michelle loves tabletop gaming. There's a whole sea of different people she'd like to be, and in games she can be confident and certain and not cry so much and maybe even be a little sneaky, a little sultry, a little bit... Aggressive? It's great fun, and she's probably one of the most enthusiastic players.

Just don't stand between her and that quest experience. You will _regret_ it.

 **Character/characters:** Almost always plays some kind of rogue or thief. Likes sneaky characters of all stripes, from those who sulk in the shadows, to those who win hearts with a smile. Also, that bonus backstab damage is sublime..! Since she views gaming as a chance to be someone else, her characters are often quite different from herself, though she's had the courage to make a few that are closer to the person she _wants_ to be... And perhaps people even notice?

Keeps good notes on her characters, and is surprisingly familiar with all the rules... And how to make a terrifyingly overpowered killing machine. Most of her characters fall into that category, even when she isn't aiming for it. It's just too easy, you know? (She'll explain it to you, if you don't get it! You can be overpowered, too! And if you hear weeping in the corner, it's just Daniel, he'll get over it!)

Has detailed relations with player characters and NPCs, and can generally recall most of the cast off the top of her head. Loves to build shifting webs of relations, and see them change; if you're willing to roleplay a friendship drifting into something more, or the reverse – two strong friends, breaking into hatred and rivalry – she'll go for it wholeheartedly.

 **Snacks:** Baked goods, usually sweet ones. Prefers cookies and cupcakes, but seems to have a sixth sense for when somebody needs a savoury tart, baked pie, or even a birthday cake. Could it be that her cowlick is actually an antenna..?

**Quirks:**

  * Elijah may have betrayed her first, but the demon, Mic **hell** e is the ultimate betrayer. If she's playing a 'villainous hero', be wary! You may be next!

  * Seeing her nerves and doubt fade into confidence and burbling laughter has a healing effect on people.

  * Will always help you with your character sheet if there's something you don't understand. Very good at explaining things! Please thank her for that; it means a lot to her.

  * Once managed to foil a scheme by the 'legendary' heroes. She got their respect!

  * Despite her machinations and love of intrigue, will always fight for her friends in the end, no matter how terrible the odds. Often the last one standing, even when she makes incredibly squishy characters.

  * Loves, loves, _loves_ boardgames! She's not very good at them, but they're a nice break from pretending to be someone you aren't.

  * Despite being sweet as a button, has a hidden deadpan side that will merciless mock any two players, or their characters, flirting.

  * Genuinely misses some references or things, and can be a little head-in-the-clouds. She's learned to use this to her advantage, but doesn't mind if people repeat things once or twice... Just in case.

  * Has been seeming a little more confident as of late.




**Giovanni:** Pen and paper? Yeah, he _used_ to play those kind of games. The only reason he joined up, though, is because Carmen was supposed to be here, and someone said something 'bout snacks? Upon realising that neither were present, Giovanni smiled a sad smile, stretched his fingers, and decided he'd probably try, or something.

At first, he had almost nothing in common with the rest of the players. His laid-back, easy-going style meant that people easily felt comfortable with him in the group, and he was surprised at how fun these weirdos were. Not necessarily the type of people he'd have assumed he'd end up being friends with, but...

He's not really into tabletop gaming, or gaming in general. But because everyone else is having so much, he does his best, like he does with life in general; he's trying, and this time, he's surprising himself a little bit, too.

 **Character/characters:** Giovanni doesn't have any one type of character. Between health issues and his general malaise, he drifts from archetype to archetype, never truly satisfied. A few days with a character, and he feels kind of tired of them, like he isn't really achieving anything, or making his friends happy.

Daniel came up with an idea that turned this around, solving both problems swiftly. Every campaign has a whole set of NPCs, or non-playable characters, reserved for Giovanni, so that he can drop in whenever he wants, and be any sort of character he's feeling. This simple act of kindness shocked Giovanni, and was what spurred him to give this his all.

Now, the players always have a reason to be friendly and interact with NPCs, and Giovanni can always bring a smile, laughter, or a tug at the heartstrings to his friends.

 **Snacks:** This was 1/2 of his reason for joining, and it's not present either? Well, he was promised snacks, they weren't present, so he _became the snacks:_

  1. _saltimbocca alla Giovanni (imitation)_

  2. _fish & chips ft. salmon, halibut, and cod (imitation)_

  3. _marble walnut apricot salad w/spring vinaigrette (hydroponic)_

  4. _spicy green stew ft. curried carrots, potatoes, alliums (hydroponic)_

  5. _fruit rosettes (seasonal, hydroponic)_

  6. _enkephalin-green dream cake (ground matcha, vanilla)_

    1. _dessert teas & coffees on request_




... As an example.  
In short, Giovanni is generally in charge of food.

**Quirks:**

  * Gets along well with Enoch, and fairly well with Lisa. Struggles to try to be a good influence and not let his more downbeat side show around the two of them.

  * Always goes all-out on becoming whatever NPC he's portraying. His voice and tonal shift can leave even Gabriel in stitches.

  * Encourages people to try new characters, and despite his _own_ doubts, always makes it clear that this is supposed to be a game where you can be whatever you want to be, so... Do that, yeah?

  * On the rare occasion he plays a character, tempted to do his own art. Can't, but he's always _thought_ about becoming an artist. If only there were the time...

  * Occasionally just reading, or sleeping beneath a book on the couch, if it isn't occupied.

  * Spent a lot of his time hospitalised and playing the kind of old video games Daniel has, so he's pretty good at them. Brought more over after he realised the kids (and Kali) were getting kinda bored of the same old.

  * If the game isn't going well for whatever reason, he's the best at breaking tension and helping everyone ease up. Can be deployed strategically whenever someone's having a bad day, and usually pretty good at helping them keep on keeping on.

  * Even though it was just a meaningless card, and he can't just 'get better,' it was the first one from people he actually knew. He didn't know what to make of it; still doesn't. And what was with everyone drawing their characters, huh...

  * Still. It made him very happy.




**Lisa:** Really didn't know what to feel about being told to get out there, make more friends, that it'd be fun to try something knew. Really, _really_ would have just been fine spending time with Enoch, but he seemed excited so she put her best foot forward and tried this... Tabletop, game, thing. Like, pretend? Pretending? Isn't that for kids?

The thing is, it wasn't so much gaming, or getting to know Carmen's friends that was bothering her. Opening up is harder for people who grew up on the Backstreets. And Lisa isn't the type to just open up because someone was nice, once. But with a little bit of support from Kali and Enoch, she ended up finding out that it really was pretty fun... And anyway, all these spacecases needed someone to keep an eye on them.

Even still, games are just a nice way to spend time with Enoch – and open a bit, and make _new_ friends, which, you know. Isn't the worst. But she does like being able to feel a bit more respected, a valuable part of a team... And she might be having a little bit of fun. Just a bit.

 **Character/characters:** Her very first character was a princess, and, like a kid sometimes does, she crumpled up her sheet halfway through and just – hated it. (Because she liked the concept, and she wanted to be nice and dainty and good and it just _didn't click._ ) It could've easily been a bad experience that soured her on the hobby, permanently.

Then, Kali shrugged and said she'd make a princess, _too._ The 'legendary' heroes were off playing their game, Carmen's ears perked up – and wouldn't you know it, princess number three joined the group! (Because it was Carmen, it was still a barbarian princess.) Then Giovanni shrugged, said he wouldn't mind being royalty, and of course Enoch was down with it.

She had a really good time, even though the campaign became a bit silly. Despite that, she prefers characters that can _protect_ the people she likes, mostly Enoch and Kali, occasionally Carmen and Giovanni. Her current character is a 'Rust Paladin' whose armour is damaged and broken, but still fights for goodness and gentle death. They have an entire organ on the back of their armour, how cool is that?

 **Snacks:** Nobody would ever force her to make anything, but she knows how to make really cute coffee art. When she's in a good mood, she'll make some for everyone! (Except Ayin.)

**Quirks:**

  * As a kid, played with a lot of character types and ideas before finding her groove. Was secretly glad the group was so encouraging. Didn't expect that, because she doesn't expect much.

  * As a kid, has a habit of making blunt statements: “Why do you own so much coffee?” “Do any of you even know what you're doing?” and, to Carmen, perhaps a bit betrayed: **“Why aren't you at therapy?”**

  * Takes a long while to open up, but very nice and sweet once you get to know her.

  * Has a sense of dramatic timing only second to Gabriel and 'that freeloader.' Loves to roar challenges to enemies who hurt her friends, and if the dice are fudged a bit when that happens, well, so be it.

  * Occasionally gets tired of gaming, even when she's having fun; she's a kid! Prefers reading to playing video games, but likes fighting games and visual novels.

  * Can't always follow super-intricate plots. She can get the fine details, but, too many weird names or connections, who wants to waste their time with stuff like that? Just – point her to the enemy, okay? She'll defeat them!

  * Powerfully smug when she pulls one over an enemy NPC or another player. Their defeat gives her great purpose in life, especially if they were a jerk.

  * Doesn't really like games where she has to fight or scheme against other players, though; Elijah, Gabriel, and Michelle all keep that in mind around her.

  * Sometimes wonders how these people even tie their shoes, some days...

  * ... Is secretly, terribly secretly, really glad to have more friends.




**Enoch:** Well, Lisa didn't quite understand how busy their 'parents' got. Enoch understood just fine, of course. People leave other people alone. That's life. Games kind of seem like a waste of time, though... Something you do, and regret when you realise you could have been doing something good, something for other people.

Oh, well. He'd try a little, and see what it was like.  
To his surprise, gaming was kind of neat. But he didn't really care about the plot so much, or the setting. He liked the effects it had on people. Seeing these older human beings, getting so much happiness from something... Maybe it was worthwhile, after all.

Because Lisa deserved to be happier, he hoped that he might be able to get her to play, too. But, sometimes, someone you know well makes it harder to get interested in something, not less. He was really happy Kali managed to nudge her forward a bit, and even happier that he got to be a part of something that built a real, genuine happiness for others.

Finding loot and stuff is neat, too.

 **Character/characters:** Like Lisa, flitted around different character archetypes a lot. Likes wordy, moody, philosophical-types; what Giovanni calls 'kinda heavy dudes.' He doesn't like playing morally questionable characters, but often is drawn to characters who would be – on their own – morally questionable.

As an example, his long-running character is a 'good' necromancer who tries to help people cross to the afterlife, bring back friendly spirits to calm grieving people, and do good deeds. It took some time for everyone but Lisa to get the idea of it, but – now the ribbon-clad, slightly hermit-ish necromancer is totally normal for the kind of character Enoch plays.

Oh, and if Lisa has an idea she wants to try out, of course he's interested. He just might think about it, for a bit...

 **Snacks:** Occasionally 'finds' food from outside. Benjamin asked him to try to stop, but it's not like he's stealing it; people just threw it out, fully wrapped. That's lame. Anyway, he'll usually be pensively eating a granola bar.

**Quirks:**

  * A good storyteller. Gets along well with Giovanni, and has been helping him feel like it's okay to not settle on any one character, even as Enoch is kind of doing just that.

  * As a kid, makes some odd pronouncements. Lisa occasionally interprets them. He doesn't mind.

  * Doesn't really view those people as parents. He and Lisa are 'castoffs' that they took responsibility of. He's trying to change his view of things, but life in the Backstreets...

  * Was worried Kali was going to be a bad influence on Lisa. Her temper and experiences were too similar to theirs, and yet – it turned out she was pretty cool.

  * Powerful smile; capable of disarming even tense standoffs.

  * Disarms tense standoffs, but often doesn't want to fight the enemy. Daniel has had to retool encounters with goblins, orcs, slimes, demons, undead, dark hell lords, and who-knows-what-else because 'they can't really be all bad.'

  * Occasionally gets tired of gaming; he's a kid! Likes to read, since it's new to him. But peaceful games and visual novels are nice. Oh, he likes watching Lisa play, too. That's relaxing.

  * Sometimes points out the obvious behind players' backs. 'Oh. You're in trouble, now...' There may be a faint hint of smugness, there.

  * Worries a lot about other people, but tries not to show it. It was 'that freeloader' who convinced him it might be okay to open up, just a bit.

  * Doesn't mind dying, it's just something that happens.

  * ... The secret he won't ever, ever share with anyone is, it'd be okay if these peaceful days could continue just for a little while longer...




**Kali:** Daniel kept on trying to recruit her; like _hell_ she'd join some weird bullshit like this! Carmen cornered her and asked her to give it a try, and because it was Carmen, she decided she'd try, if she had to. Showed up hella early, while Daniel was still in fancy rich-people pajamas, sat outside the hallway, arms crossed, and asked to learn how this tabletop gaming thing worked.

It... All went over her head. Numbers? Miniatures? But you get to fight things? Pretending to be other people? Is this really what people with no worries in their lives get up to, _geeze_! But, when she gave her word, she meant it, and devoted herself to studying tabletop gaming.

Actually, she probably would've given up if Carmen hadn't been doing her own thing with her pals. She recognised Lisa and Enoch, and their history. She remembered not having had time to be a kid. And, it all kind of clicked, or even if it didn't, it didn't _matter._ So. Who's ready to play?

 **Character/characters:** Along with Lisa, likes to play paladins and holy warriors who guard and protect her friends. She's also cool with playing _healers,_ or characters that can help patch the team up. There's more than enough violence in the real world, right?

Of course, when she found out that there were fighting guys who could use their bare hands as weapons, she _lost her mind._ She's been dying to make a mournful guy who lives up in the mountains, training his body and mind, and is really sad; hasn't had the chance yet, wouldn't fit with any of the campaigns they've been in. Anyway, his plot point is that his fists can make the enemy explode, which is awesome.

When she's feeling punchy, occasionally plays a social character, and doesn't even _try,_ but tries really hard. Names like “the Duchess of Featherbottomstil” or “Gromech erbo Balaxia” are not uncommon. Grinning all the while, she's been known to cause a nuclear laugh meltdown in Michelle, who (for some reason) always tries to befriend such characters.

 **Snacks:** Good at making lots of food from poor-quality ingredients that keeps you feeling full/healthy. Enoch and Lisa really love the taste of it, whether rice, pasta, or dumplings; the others don't get it, not having grown up on the Backstreets.

**Quirks:**

  * Part of the smokers' society with Ayin. Occasionally, Carmen steals both of their cigarettes at once.

  * Swears constantly, but always cuts herself off when the kids are present. Really wants to be a good role model. On that note; never talks down to them, and can relate in ways nobody else really can.

  * Despite the whole 'too much violence' thing, loves the old fighting games with their super-pixelated chunky graphics, and is always trying to start tournaments on lazy days where the game just isn't moving.

  * Draws character art for all her characters; it isn't exactly a recognisable style, looking kind of graffiti-ish. But Giovanni and Carmen think it looks really cool.

  * Likes to cut Daniel off mid-monologue. “Yeah, cool, where's the treasure?”

  * Cremates the sheets of characters who die. It's a due to the dead.

  * Didn't know where to park her bike in the horrifying underground parking lot, considered riding it through the hallway to make a point, or something.

  * She and Elijah run bets on who'll die first; Kali has a tendency to push Daniel juuuuust far enough he might do it, the madman.

  * Arrives early still to use Daniel's shower. When she got picked up by Lobotomy, the shock of having her own shower meant she arrived late for a few months.

  * When she's bored, one-handed pushups. (Showoff.)

  * Actually likes the social part of the game, though, a lot. She's not really comfortable with the whole pretending to be some other person bit, but just listening is really fun to her.

  * It's different then what she's used to, and she'll never feel entirely welcome, no matter how welcoming everyone is. But...

  * Not the worst thing, feeling like you aren't a monster.




**Garion:** ~~who the hell let this weirdo in~~ The mighty arbiter has come to play. She made up some bullshit excuse about how this was a routine inspection by the Head, and everyone's way too frightened of her to protest, so, uh, she's here.  
  
The couch mentioned, all the way back in the beginning? It comfortably suits about three-to-four people without getting cramped. Garion _colonised_ it and refuses to leave, sprawled over it and dictating her orders with a wave of her hand. Actually, sometimes Daniel has trouble evicting her from the flat in general; sometimes, he gets evicted, instead. Rough, buddy.

Dramatic and grandiose in the extreme, Garion's presence seemed like it'd spoil the entire thing, for everyone, forever, but...

 **Character/characters:** Garion doesn't use character sheets, or waste time on this plebeian thing known as 'rules.' She knows the character she wants for any given setting, and just _becomes_ them. Interestingly, she trusts her partymembers to the absolute, and gives Daniel free reign to tell her whether she succeeds or fails.

... She prefers to play characters who don't fight too much, and just observe things as they unfold. Generally, she intervenes when someone gets in over their head, at the very last minute. The rest of the players have come to think of her as the cavalry, because she'll always show her full hand when the chips are down and things are at their worst.

Interestingly, despite not having any numbers or rules to describe them, any given member of the group could probably describe Garion's characters _perfectly_ if asked.

 **Snacks:** takeout.

No, no, we're not _done_ here. Imagine being a poor, underpaid delivery courier. You're dependent on tips. Entirely. Your life is dependent on the people at this ritzy building pay a little bit more than the recommended gratuity. It's freakin' cold, the power is out, and the hallway is freezing.  
  
The door opens a crack; some weird woman with a deathly gaze sees you. You hand her the order without question. You stare, trying to subverbally communicate your plea. She stares at you. You stare at her; she stares at you. You stare at her. She stares at you; the door starts to close...

Anyway, when Ayin is present, everyone makes him tip. Otherwise, Daniel or Elijah cover it.  
Don't worry, though. She also got a single can of black tea (for herself, of course).

**Quirks:**

  * Has a melodious laugh. Hearing it is usually a bad sign.

  * Noticed the kids getting out of energy one evening, quietly got off the couch (for once.) Everybody was worried, but...

  * Seems to be pretty good with kids. Is incredibly encouraging to them, and gives good – if somewhat blunt – advice.

  * Has zero tolerance for bullshit. Don't try to lie to her. Don't even think about it.

  * Maximum drama, hand over her face _'he_ **_LIES'_ **whenever Daniel tries to have a character lead the party astray. When combined with Gabriel, the ensuing drama arms race is a marvelous phantasmagoria to behold.

  * Recommended that Daniel's acid jazz would actually work well for combat music.

  * Loves to mess with Kali, usually laughing (melodically) afterwards. The only one who can beat Kali in a fighting game. On the other hand, absolutely miserable at any other type of game. Clenches the controller and her teeth and whispers 'oh, NO...' while trying to keep a straight face.

  * Has a weird friendly rivalry with Michelle. It's hard to explain.

  * Occasionally becomes stuck in the couch, and is only able to weakly gesture for help because she's so tired. This may be a ploy to get people to bring her food/water/shade.

  * Goes long periods of time without showing up, then shows up bringing gifts.

  * Seems to feel incredible melancholy, sometimes.

  * Hasn't opened up to other people, despite constantly encouraging others to do so.

  * ... Seems to feel incredible melancholy that, in spite of just showing up, she's gradually been considered a _friend._




**Hidden characters;**

**Hidden GM;**

**Angela:** Just showed up one day. Sat in Daniel's chair, took a long look from behind half-shut eyes at that well-worn coffee mug, and then made eye contact with him. Refused to break it, established dominance. Drunk from the mug. When, crying, he pursued, she just wheeled away (very slowly) using the chairwheels as locomotion.

As a gamemaster, Angela is tough-but-fair. All her runs are treasure runs, basically devoid of plot and designed to maximise experience and goodies. Despite her evil laughter whenever the players trip up some kind of terrible trap, she really _is_ fair, and ultimately wants them to grow as characters, even if they get a _little_ hurt in the process.

Claims she has a 'long-planned campaign that you might find impressive' coming soon. Refuses to talk about this long-planned campaign, and just smiles wistfully when asked about it.

~~probably a better gm than daniel and it kills him but oh well~~

**Character/characters:** On the rare occasion Angela plays as a player, she'll usually copy up a concept she saw from some other media. She's got zero interest in creating a rich or interesting backstory for her _character_ , as they're just a tool to her. Creating a rich story with the other _players,_ now... That's a different tale.

She loves to mess with rest of the team, lead them astray, and generally cause havoc. She's not above putting them in danger, either, but does it with so much charm that you can't really blame her. On the rare chance she feels like putting effort into it, can carry a heavy pathos. Enjoys plots that see her going against some cosmic will or another, for precisely that reason.

As a GM, she'll just throw whatever in a pot and see what sticks. Ideally, all her characters are designed to cause the maximum amount of interesting confusion amongst the players, since that'll generally lead to an interesting story...

 **Snacks:** Champagne. (She might try to serve it to the kids, too, if anybody let her.)

**Quirks:**

  * The most frightening sentence a player can hear: “Are you sure about that..?”

  * Once built up a campaign that was entirely free of threats or monsters, and was mildly disappointed when everyone treated it as if it was going to be a nightmare-filled horrorscape. She seemed sad, come to think of it.

  * Brought a cactus, and left it on the table frequented by those three. It went unnoticed.

  * An excellent teacher, and really wants you to succeed; during character creation, is always willing to answer Elijah's questions about skill rolls or Kali not getting grappling manoeuvres with equal courtesy and kindness.

  * Constantly looks for feedback from the players that aren't fear. Would appreciate just one or two words of praise now and then. It seems that's too much, though. How disappointing.

  * Enjoys all manner of campaign, and the few times she's deviated from a loot-and-scoot, it's been notable. The science-fiction landscapes she's created are alien and beautiful; her horror is chilling on every level; and her fantasy could fill a thousand books and still be fascinating.

  * The real reason she's here, though, is that she enjoys studying people.

  * People, their reactions, their relationships. Those things are the most fascinating things in the world.

  * Even if it took ten million years, she probably wouldn't grow tired of the freedom to be part of them.

  * ... So it's a nice thing that she has that freedom. Even if she is a bit odd, perhaps that's just another reason she fits in.




**Hidden Player;**

**Myo:** In the parking lot, one might see a beat-up bike, a cool motorbike, and a sleek orange and black sticker-clad scooter. The last one would belong to this courier, who claimed she had an in with... Someone, anyway, it doesn't really matter, you're all playing a game, right? How interesting. And with that, Myo forced herself into the cosily crowded environs.

Terse and detached, most of the time, Myo is what might be called an 'anti-social' gamer. Soaking in the atmosphere is fine, but she doesn't really need to interact with it much. A curt 'yes, sounds good,' or 'I'll follow and provide fire support' before tearing into the enemy are enough for her.

Well, except when she's kicking an enemy when it's down, which she enjoys a lot. Not to the point of being cruel, or anything... That'd be wack. But, a job well done is a job well done, right?

 **Character/characters:** Terrifyingly skilled at finding the most dangerous class in the setting, and building it in a dangerous way. Is constantly eyeing up other players character sheets, 'just in case.' Her wide, white-toothed smile could be a weapon, too.

Roleplaying, huh... Not really her thing, though. After awhile, all peasants are just a source of gold, and all gold is just a mean to get more cool items. It's kind of a contract; you kill the bad thing scaring the weakest guys in the setting, they pay you to not do the same thing to them.

See? That's roleplaying. That's what her _character_ would say.  
Hahaha. You thought she was talking from experience? No, no.  
Not at all.

 **Snacks:** Hers is a legendary bibimbap, and she usually brings chilled cans of barley tea, too. Somehow, it seems choco pies still remain in the far future. Occasionally, she'll throw one at somebody who happens to be irritating her.

**Quirks:**

  * That one friend who knows all the details about any kind of weaponry, period-accurate or modern. Usually finishes an (unasked for) rundown by placing her arm against the table and flexing. “Now, check out the real guns.” This is said in a monotone.

  * Kali once followed up by laughing raucously, and doing the same. If we follow this logic, the response might be an intense red-eyed stare, and “i'm going to be you. only _better_.” (Kali didn't flex anymore around Myo.)

  * Gets hopping mad when the GM is being unfair to the party, or worse still, denies them a fight with an enemy that's been built up over the course of several campaigns.

  * You might have to use a microscope, but her incredibly dry sense of humour is as powerful as a live round.

  * Sometimes, in her own way, rather spacey. Walking out of a room _full to the bursting_ with legendary treasure because it seemed 'kinda dull' is a good example.

  * Despite basically viewing npcs as XP-vending machines, is weirdly strict about living up to her contract with them.

  * Got into an 'arena' match with Garion over who could make the most powerful character. Since Garion doesn't use character sheets, the end result was impossible to gauge. Lisa's disappointed frown cut through both of them, however, and led to an embarrassed armistice.

  * Along with Ayin, the most likely to teach questionably useful things to the kids. Fortunately, Enoch had zero interest in learning how to field-strip an RPG.

  * Continuously pressing people to try this one, rabbit-based setting. If she's disappointed that no one's interested, she's hiding that disappointment very well.

  * (She's so disappointed.)

  * At first, nobody could understand why she'd crashed their party, but, she's just _so useful_ in any party they grudgingly had to accept her.

  * Over time, grudging respect turned into appreciation of her slight mannerisms and ability to take even the worst of defeats with a half-shrug and a “Myo out.”




**  
The Legendary Adventurers;  
  
** As a whole, the previous group and the whole reason this mess started. Carmen introduced Ayin to it while he was but a junior, and Benjamin had learned about tabletop gaming independently. They've been playing for _years_ and have a correspondingly long history. So legendary are their exploits that their campaigns often shape the ones Daniel runs for the rest of the group, and their characters are often cameo entries in said campaigns, with their permission.

For them, the experience has long stopped being about roleplaying and become a rare excuse to forget about work and be social, just shoot the breeze with... Friends. The usually don't rely on a gamemaster, just kind of building a campaign as they go; Daniel _does_ also run the occasional campaign for them, but only when the mood strikes them.

But they're far more serious about gaming when guest-starring or playing with the rest of the players, in their own ways. Each Legendary Adventurer's character sheet is a work of art, or perhaps an artifact – and unfortunately, they all have the bad habit of bringing work with them in different ways.  
  
Ayin's character sheet has been written over and erased countless times with work theorems and notes. Carmen's is chewed and has multiple staple wounds, indecipherable formula wedged in-between character development notes and relations. And Benjamin? His deserves a mention on its own merits.

When things begins, they were a little aloof, and often used as shorthand for things going wrong, or a joking reason for being present, being late, or losing interest. As gaming nights became a more regular occurrence, however, it just might be that their relationships improved – not just with the rest of the players, but...

 **Ayin:** Dishevelled and usually with a work-week beard. Smells like cigarette smoke and, inexplicably, oranges. Wears his labcoat everywhere he goes because it's fashionable and functionable, and he's irritable and not. Not functional. Or something. Why are you asking?

Constantly thinking about work and the future, and doesn't seem to notice or understand that there are other people besides Ben and Carmen present. Never refers to other players by their character names, but their names; i.e. “Hey, Lisa, look out. Daniel is gunning for you.” Doesn't even try to roleplay, and the type to mention “I guess I'll take a swing at those orcs.” On the other hand, when he gets properly fired up, a whole new level of melodrama becomes possible.

When he's roleplaying with others, takes a _long_ time to feel at ease. Clearly uncomfortable and trying not to antagonise people, but usually failing; he gets frustrated easily and often needs to take a moment or two. It's usually because he's thinking about work, and if he can just compartmentalise for a bit...

After he's finally managed it, _if_ he manages it, cool-headed and actually kind of charming. Maybe even a little gentle. Full of wry humour, and always teasing other players. (He once teased Michelle a bit too much, though, and got an earful from Carmen!)  
  
It's much easier for him to be like that when he's with the two of them – her and Benjamin. It's easier for him to punt all the rest of it by the wayside and just laugh, smile, and shoot the shit. Something about his easy smile and happiness are a bit tragic, perhaps because they fade so quickly when the night fades and the moment passes.

 **Character:** **_ADAMA, THE FOUNDER, THE FIRST MAN._** A five-sheet monstrosity that features ~~programmer~~ character art by Ayin. It's just Ayin, with white hair (Benjamin never misses a chance to point out good taste) and weirdly detailed rippling muscles.

Adama goes around punching things hard, and solving problems, usually by punching them very hard. His class is a 'primal' which is just a retooled sorcerer because Ayin thought that the class name sorcerer sounded boring. Even though he's a sorcery, the magic is usually channelled through his fists.

If asked, Ayin will admit there's no real characterisation for Adama, anymore. He's' just an outlet for him to goof around with his friends, but that was what he was designed for. If everyone just – did what they were designed to do, people would probably be happier, right? Anyway, Adama can't complain.

In others' campaigns, Adama is often used as shorthand for something getting wrecked. Adama conveniently taking out villains that turned out to be a bit stronger than intended is entirely within possibility.

When _forced_ to play other characters, Ayin scratches his hair a lot, stews for a bit, and actually _tries,_ and is a surprisingly good roleplayer. It's just, you know, effort. So, he'd prefer to not do that. You know.  
  
 **Weakness:** Because he's paying the least attention to any given campaign out of the Legendary Heroes, Ayin is the easiest to exploit. Just shuffle some notes in, he'll check them absentmindedly, scratch his head, mumble about why he couldn't recall fighting the ultimate lich master, and go off to do that.

 **Snacks:** TV dinners. What's weirder is that he can cook, _well._ But he's already spending the effort elsewhere, so, if that's not enough he'll order in a pizza for you.

**Quirks:**

  * Can fall asleep sitting up. Carmen thinks it's cute.

  * Downs energy drinks as if it were nobody's business but his own.

  * Needs to be reminded not to swear in front of the kids. Whose kids? We, uh, I guess adopted them? Cool, cool. What were their names again?

  * Video games? Who'd waste their time on something like that?

  * If nobody else arrives, a miracle may occur where he and Benjamin sing karaoke. Despite what might be assumed, they're quite good.

  * Gets irritable when he misses, doesn't one-shot the enemy, or – actually he's mostly irritable.

  * ... Gets irritable when he feels the GM is picking on a player. Cut that out. Isn't fair. Isn't right.

  * ... Gets irritable when Benjamin and Carmen aren't having a good time. And sometimes, when they are. Especially when it's obvious, he's...

  * One day, he noticed that Lisa and Enoch were from the Backstreets. Really _noticed._ Running his hand over his face, he left the room, returned with no beard and only stubble (low as it can go), and immediately begin teaching them the fine points of science and... Almost _everything._

  * Carmen and Benjamin may have been watching. Carmen may have been biting her lip. Benjamin's expression was hidden.

  * After an hour, the cool science dad energy left him however, and things were about to get dicey with the introduction of a sentence like: “... And anyway, now let's go over how to make military-grade pepper spray...”

  * He didn't understand why his two best friends refused to let him keep going. Lisa seemed interested! What kid doesn't wanna know?!

  * It's hidden, but he has a pretty funny sense of humour. A well-placed 'ah, guess we're fucked then' when the kids aren't around has been known to send the entire room into stitches.

  * One day, he just rang the doorbell, alone. No game scheduled. Mentioned how much it meant to him that Daniel kept the thing alive. Didn't explain. Seemed terribly sad; left, and never mentioned it again.




**Benjamin:** Much more neat and orderly than Ayin, and Carmen if he's being honest... Probably the most orderly person in the whole group. Benjamin hit 'gentlemanly' status at age sixteen, and has only refined it since. A few soft words can easily get Ayin out of a funk, and he's not too shabby at encouraging others, either.

On paper, he's the easiest of the three to deal with because of that. He tends to be thought of as a good influence by Daniel, and only Garion distrusts him on any real level, but... You don't work long, thankless hours on projects that were once your passion before developing a few eccentricities.

He's very strict on himself, and likes to be precisely on time, neither early or late. You wouldn't guess it, because he's never rude, but... Bit by bit, little things like that kind of strip him down and reduce him. Too many and he can almost start to seem – if not cold, _sterile._ Like a phantom, who is only half present at any given time.

This is at it's worst when neither Carmen nor Ayin is present. He seems – lost without them, though he quickly hides it when somebody notices. A practiced smile, a friendly gesture and all is well.

At his core, however, Benjamin remains a shy and somewhat uncertain person who depends on friendship to keep moving forward. Social events like these are his link to that vital friendship, and so he depends on them like a lifeline. When that lifeline is severed, he is reminded of the truth that – no matter what he does, no matter how long he waits, all people are basically alone.

 **Character: _SOLOMON, THE PERFECT ARTIFICER._** Ben's character sheet isn't a character sheet. Oh, _no._ He'll happily plop the first manilla folder, the one with the backstory, down onto the table. The next has all his history, then the five for the items he's accrued, and...  
  
In short, Benjamin views his characters like the projects they are – to him, Solomon is not just an outlet but an investment of time, energy, and passion. He grabbed some cheap EE Company stockart for the character art, because appearance doesn't matter so much; what matters is what Solomon represents to him, and to the two of _them._

Unlike many characters, Solomon is level one. He has never gained a single level, and whenever he gains experience, Benjamin puts it into crafting items or working with magical equipment. Even his class, Artificer, was designed to be used by _NPCs;_ it was not balanced for player use.

The core of Solomon's character is that, Benjamin thinks... “Anybody should be able to be a hero. To create a reality that they prefer. Even if they're not very impressive on their own, even if they aren't strong.”

With access to the untold magical items and artifacts of thousands of hours spent campaigning, Solomon is capable of virtually anything. This power is held in check by Ben being a good roleplayer, but it's almost a given that, if a situation arises, Solomon is perfectly prepared for it, and will deal with it promptly.

 **Weakness:** Benjamin isn't really interested in campaigning if those two aren't present. He'll play along for a bit, but excuse himself after an hour or two. Solomon is nothing without his friends, after all.

 **Snacks:** He can whip up a mouth-watering shakshuka, a decent-to-good eggs royale, and a fine goulash, but – he hasn't had time to cook, what with work, and he's a little self-conscious that his skill might have decreased... Oh, here's an idea! Ayin loves to help people. I'm sure he'd love to order a pizza, if you're hungry!

**Quirks:**

  * Has an incredible 'old man voice' that the adults find hilarious and charming in equal measure. For some reason, the kids find it eyeroll-inducing. He's not that hurt about it. (He's a little hurt.)

  * Mildly asthmatic, but doesn't mind Ayin smoking. It's easy to obtain suppressant from XX Company, after all.

  * As a nervous tic, sometimes checks his watch; a habit from work. The watch is hardly practical, and commemorative.

  * Oh, Ayin isn't present, but Carmen is? Well, there's surely time for a boardgame or two...

  * Dislikes video games almost as much as Ayin, but has the _preternatural_ ability to know every pattern in a curtainfire/bullet hell game by glance. “It's not too difficult. I'll try to teach you, if you'd like?”

  * The only one who likes Carmen's cookies.

  * Probably could die of happiness from Giovanni's cooking.

  * Unlike Ayin's chickenscratch or Carmen's formulae, he's put more thought into it. He has _thousands_ of notes, written in mirror writing, broken into ciphers across his character sheets. Solomon isn't just a character, but the 'key' to some of the research the three of them are working on.

  * Despite being gentle and kindly, kind of terrible at teaching people. He finds it amusing! But he gets excited about stuff only those two enjoy, and so – it can be a little hard to keep up interest.

  * When someone is about to swear and the kids are around, _the one_ to mention “Language!”

  * On the rare occasions where he's irritable, it's almost as if he's a different person. He seems distant and more _afraid,_ more _tired_ than anything else.

  * Shortly after Ayin visited that one evening, it seemed Benjamin often stopped by on his own more often, bringing small gifts and answering questions. Everyone understood why, of course, but nobody knew what to say to help, because there was nothing that could be said to help.

  * It was Garion who found him alone at night, long after he should have left, staring intently at a 3D-printed wooden model. Perhaps it was her duty to observe, but she didn't interrupt. As for the model, if there was a solution, nobody could have solved it on their own.




**Carmen:** She's always full of life and energy, Carmen is here! The mastermind behind regrouping the old gaming club, not that she has too much time for it herself, anymore! It's just that it meant _so much_ to her, back in the day. And what with the kids wanting to explore but the world being the world, so many of their friends not really meeting up...

Didn't it seem like a wonderful, fun idea? Something that could make the whole world a little brighter..?

That being said, if you can deflect your eyes from the _aura_ that Carmen projects, its clear to see that she takes about as good care of herself as Ayin. She's much cleaner, perhaps, but countless speeches, fundraising events, presentations, and social events she took upon herself are weighing down on her. They aren't what she thought her project would entail, but for the sake of her project...

Mostly, she's just happy to see Ben and Ayin. Check in on them, make sure they're brushing their teeth and taking good care of themselves! And oh, if they can roll the dice a bit and just _pretend..._ She wouldn't hate that. Not at all.

A skillful roleplayer, Carmen always gets into her character. Even the most stoic of the group can be drawn to tears by a speech of hers, and when she's roleplaying, it's hard not to feel like you're a part of her world, too.  
  
If neither Ayin or Benjamin is present, she is always friendly, checks in on everyone, offers hugs and affection and good emotions, and leaves before too much time has passed, always with a smile.

 **Character: _RUTH, THE UNDEFEATED LIGHT._** She used to run a different character, _Darkmoon Lilith,_ but even though she still loves that character, it was from a rougher time in her life and a rougher part of herself she's trying to build up on from, so she's consigned that character to history!

Actually, that turn of phrase is true to her character sheet, as well. It's only a page long, and whenever it gets too long, Carmen cheerfully trims the chaff and lets it fall away. “Keeps things from getting too overwhelming!”

Much like Adama, Ruth isn't really even a character at this point; just an excuse for Carmen to have fun with her dearest and most beloved friends. A powerful barbarian, like almost every character Carmen plays, Ruth's most distinguishable feature is her collection of heavy weaponry. If it can't be held in two hands, it's not worth using! The better to collect a bounty of heads with!  
  
When Ruth appears in other campaigns, it's generally to encourage the players that they're on the right path, and to give! It! Their! All!  
Roughly translating to a reason for Carmen to step over and make sure everyone is having fun.

Sometimes, a very wistful expression settles over her face, and Carmen mutters something about being too predictable, and bringing everyone down, and thinking about starting a new character; but at that moment both Benjamin and Ayin are very firm that they couldn't think of anyone else they'd rather spend time with.

Ruth, of course.  
The character.

 **Weakness:** Sometimes, Carmen smiles, winks, and needs to take a few moments to collect herself, just – sort out some thoughts. It never takes long, she's just out on the balcony thinking, but you could probably fudge some numbers or something. Two pairs of eyes would surely notice though, and remember.

 **Snacks:** Definitely another skilled chef, at one point? Uh, she's been so busy, how would you like... A cake in a cup! She loves making these when she's tired, that's not enough, uuuuuuUuuuuUuuuh, well, how about... Pizza! Everybody loves pizza, and you know who orders the best pizza, Ayin!

**Quirks:**

  * Once brought an _entire chest_ of costume jewellery over for everyone to play with, dress up with, and just generally experience a feeling like their character might feel. It was incredible fun, and everybody had a good time.

  * She loves seeing people having fun, and radiates a sort of good-hearted-energy that just can't be denied, but... Don't forget that she's got a devillish sense of mischief about her, too. She's not above cashing mayhem in a campaign that's gotten too predictable!

  * Video... Games? (Enjoys them marginally more than Ayin or Ben, but hates losing. Her sour face on losing a fighting game is actually kind of incredible in and of itself.)

  * To keep her baking skills sharp, occasionally makes cookies. They aren't bad! They just taste a little like tastelessness.

  * When she's nervous, undoes her ponytails and redoes it.

  * Capable of re-railing or de-railing an entire campaign, depending on her whims.

  * Does all her own art for her character sheets. It's rough and untrained, but it might have been one of the things that stood out to Giovanni, and helped spur his own interest in the arts.

  * Sometimes just shuts down and needs sleep, zzzz!.. Speaking of Giovanni, he's always a little wary when this happens.

  * But she's fine, though! Nothing a nap won't fix!

  * Tries to be a good surrogate parent for Lisa and Enoch, but overestimates danger and underestimates their needs. She's so focused on the project that it even consumes her free time, after all... Oh, crap, shit fuck – (Benjamin, quietly: “Language...”)

  * She does make up for it, though. Even if she's a little frazzled, she won't let that get her down. When she hears news about a bad day, that's a bad day she'll defeat. When it's somebody's birthday, or a party, or a holiday, she'll do everything she can to make that a memory they can always come back to.

  * Always closes with how important this group is to her, and how much it means to her. It can get a bit trite, so it's easy to assume she doesn't really mean it, or is just saying it because she's Carmen.

  * How it helped get her through some things, things she's still working through, probably forever, anyway, it makes it all worthwhile, so...

  * It stood out that she said it with the widest smile before she stopped coming.

  * ... But because this is set in a happier AU, after a month, Carmen returned with an exhausted but visibly happy Ayin. She wasn't _quite_ as perky as before, but it seemed like even with whatever battles she was fighting, it _did_ help, just a little.

  * Since she was the one receiving cards, this time, every day – perhaps those helped, too.




**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't lie, I had a lot of fun. The idea has been stewing in my head for some time; then again, as much as I could write more about the setting and make stories in it, I also feel like it's not enough to be interesting on its own merits. I just miss tabletop games, ahaha! So, uh, if it's fun and amusing for you, dear readers, that's enough for me.  
> By the way, I have no idea if these chapter notes do much to help with context. 
> 
> Hopefully, though, they make you smile, too.


	14. the alchemist [pt I.]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still feeling kind of mumblegrumble, so here's one of two small pieces for my favourite abnormality.  
> Can you guess what it is? As a hint, it's - not very liked by the community, at least for a gameplay function, ahaha!

_cold days in hell_

_spilled over soil_

_from the gallows_

_under the gallows_

_they told him_

_ice age comin' down_  
  
better bunker down

_hide yourself and all you love_

_pray to god and the holy dove_

_'cause ain't no savior comin' round_

_and every passing day_

_the hanging nooses sway_

_multiplied by_

_their lightened load_

_(murdered murderers flying soon)_

_but_

_in the nightmares shown_

_in the frozen snow_

_he saw_

_the buds of spring_

_when the last watcher left_

_the holy spectacle_

_he crept_

_into quick-frozen graves_

_(witnessed miracles)_

_no more would the peasant starve_

_no more the poacher harm_

_nor steal from the lords' domain;_

_in his frozen absolutes_

_his salts and chemicals_

_shaped old mud and clay_

_but when he beheld_

_all his work dispelled_

_in its waxy corpsen smile_

_the ancient alchemist_

_clenched his frozen fists_

_and built a gallow in his heart_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the tune I want in my head, but, dang, I don't actually know a thing about musical theory in practice.  
> This does have to do with Lobotomy. Consider it part of the next entry, separated only by style.


	15. rappaccini's daughter [pt. II depressing themata, humanity in general, poncy folks moreso, and old alchemists especially are butts 9/10ths of the time plz see enclosed]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We continue with our story, already in progress.  
> Next up, an abnormality that people are more fond of.  
> In fact, perhaps this story will hint at the next..?

The first question she asked, was, 'Am I alive?'  
  
Her father, her master, the wisest man alive, the greatest man alive - had held no answer.  
So she was content with that, and neither understood the hatred on his face or his angry tears.  
When he commanded that she go live in the old broken building near the frozen stream, she did as she was told, needle-thin feet causing flowers to bloom in the dead of winter.  
  
And she waited, and waited, and waited, and received no visitors, and had nothing to do but think.  
  
She thought about many things, but they were very simple things because she had seen no people, read no books, traveled no roads.  
But occasionally, she would see the flight of birds from cracks in the rotted wood, or feel the warm song.  
Most wonderfully of all, occasionally, she heard a chime.

It took her many years to wonder where her father, great and holy and wise and her utmost creator, had gone, for surely a parent must visit their child.  
Because he had not explained rules, she felt no great wrongness when she kicked the door, and the old wood sprouted branches and apple blossoms, before withering and rotting in such beautiful colours.

Surely, if he had meant that she should not leave, he would have explained his reasoning.

Even an innocent child can remember strong memories, and know their reasoning.  
Even a child without any experience knows what to make of a face, frozen in disgust, hanging in the breeze; skin preserved only by cold.  
  
 _He must have hated me so much, he couldn't bear to see or speak or think of me ever again._  
  
Given she knew nothing else, it was sound logic.  
She didn't know what to feel, so she decided she must not feel anything at all.  
And since she didn't feel anything at all, it was only natural that was why he had hated her.

If she actually felt sad, she didn't deserve to. _It_ did not, it reminded itself, for it was merely a mud doll, without a soul.  
That was why he had not answered the question, then. It was soulless and worthless and ugly.

Of course, it cried, but it decided that it was a reflexive action, the moss and algae growing from the black vortices of its eyes just more proof that it was a soulless abomination.

Exhausted, it knelt in the cold grass and slept.  
  
...  
  
In those years, many wars had spilled out into a never-ending conflict that had spanned nearly half a century.  
A changing climate had brought utter devastation that some claimed was the displeasure of God;  
Starvation was the normal amongst all people, and nobody truly believed it would ever end, even though the worst had passed more than a decade ago.  
  
When it woke up from its long slumber, it did not know what to do, nor understood hatred entirely.  
So the doll set off in directions at random, reversing course when it felt, and following roads as it pleased. It did not need to eat, or drink, or sleep, though it slept often, and dreamt of an ordinary life.  
Occasionally, it dreamt that it had worn beautiful eyes, like shimmering starlight.  
Those were pleasant dreams.  
  
Eventually, it reached a village. The sight of it drew out a panic, and everyone gathered in the church to discuss what would be done.  
As the village priest had been hung for the crime of sharing stolen bread, and the village-master had died in a struggle with another village over the arable land between, there was no one leader.  
How terrible a thing, to be without a leader! Yet, somehow, as if by magic, the indecision and fear of the peasants and merchants led to caution, to wait and see what might happen;  
And this patience through indecision allowed a miracle to happen, one that would have been smothered by 'decisive' action as clearly as a flower drowns in floods.  
  
It did not understand houses, or property, or people.  
Nor could its eyes, which saw that all were huddling in a small building with a tall roof, understand fear.  
  
But the soil felt barren and sad, like the soil beneath the gallows.  
  
And once more, it felt sad, so it trod amongst the fields.  
Where sharp legs cut through dirt, the earth ripened and blackened and grew rich; where they touched white and yellow and brown seeds, dead by frost, those seeds and bulbs remembered life, and warmth, and happiness.  
In the rich soil, they dreamt of living once more - and dreamt of love.  
  
One by one, the villagers fought their fears and watched with wide eyes as the strange beast saved them from a famine that had haunted the world for as long as some had lived.  
  
They fell to the ground, and hugged each other, and praised God, and praised their good fortune, and praised it, and it did not understand - but was happy, all the same.  
So things changed in the enchanted village, and life was good for awhile.  
  
In the village, the people were happy, and built a small dwelling in the newly-risen forest for their saviour. It was a shed without ornamentation, because their saviour did not speak.  
But it was also a shrine, and they left gifts; a child's sewn animal, a butcher's first cuts, the unfinished work of the poet who died in the recent conflict, and shiny stones.  
One day, the village glassblower had an idea, and carved eyes from glass as green as a forestry sea - the oldest of which was said to have been formed by stars that fell from heaven.  
  
Now, with her eyes so green, she could see again, and felt _happy._  
  
These days continued for some time.  
But, as things always do, word spread.  
First from the nearby villages whom the villagers shared their bounty with. There was no hostility in the question of where the food came from, nor hostility in the reason they shared of the 'enchanted villages' success with their lords.  
And yet, as men in high castles - wise men, leaders of men - slept, they dreamt greedily of limitless respect, and the adoration of the men whose love they commanded.  
  
So, as it did go, the most patient and holy margrave of the area sent a small group to trace the source of this wealth, this legendary fertility.  
Because they felt the blessing had come from God, the villagers welcomed their rightful lord's men with open arms, and at first all was well; then, as those same men caught sight of _it,_ their hearts froze - like the ground had froze, not so long before.  
  
"Oh help me, God!" (Said the pious brother, clutching dearly his crucifix, the end shaped like a sword.)  
"The eyes of the devil!" (Said the brave knight, hands shaking as he reached for his gun.)  
"Monster! Abomination! Filth!" (Screamed the eloquent statesman, spittle flying from his fake teeth.)  
  
 _She_ did not understand why these other humans, like the villagers, and like herself, were hostile - but meant to show them she meant no harm.  
Her soft feet cut through soil, stirring it as gently as a good till, and all the flowers of the new world and the old blossomed behind her.  
But flowers and nature were the providence of God, so its work was clearly that of the devil, and the group fled in terror, determined to report to their lord...  
  
And they did, and it was decided that the wealth of the devil was cursed, and the only way to assure salvation for those bewitched was to put them to the sword.  
  
Because they were brave men, fearless men, men doing what they did for the safety of their peers, they struck in the dead of night; and they struck and struck and struck until not a single soul was left alive.  
Then, and only then, did they approach the cursed shrine wherein the devil dwelled.  
  
Since _it_ did not understand what had happened, it pranced from corpse to corpse, prodding them with sharp feet, not caring when they were coated with congealed red.  
And when they did not respond, it grew more and more panicked; it nuzzled the dead and knelt beside them and walked in circles, and many flowers blossomed around them -  
But humans are not flowers, and _it_ was never human.  
  
It was then they sprung upon it with nets and blades and guns.   
They took the beautiful eyes that had been crafted for it, for they would fetch a pretty price.  
And they cut out a tongue that could only screech in panic, and remorse, and a new emotion that it had no words for.  
  
But _she_ felt it very strongly, and tried to fight it by thinking of the most wonderful thing, the thing that had made her most happy before she knew of the horrible, complex world.  
And she felt the sun, and heard it, again, and again.  
  
A **chime.**  
  
When the chimes finished, the screaming had stopped, and the chorus of bright red and purple, of lavenders and weeping bells, of forget-me-nots and daisies and roses of sharon, all of them grew in harmony.  
They say skin is almost soil, and that the flowers blossoming amongst the graves of men produce the brightest blooms.  
  
From her hollow eyes, floral tears fell, and where her tongue had been, engorged and swollen violets grew.  
They say she knelt there, in the peaceful grove, surrounded by dead friends and enemies, and dreamt of being a human, until finally she was stolen away, to a tomb beneath the earth.  
  
...  
  
"Anyway," he finished curtly.  
"That's the most I've said for quite some time. Let us return to my offer..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's all love and protect alriune
> 
> So I guess this weekend is a Grimm kind of weekend, huh? Huh?!   
> As 'Alriune' takes notes from several different tellings of the story, so did I. In this one, Alriune doesn't get revenge on the professor, and it's left vague as to how/why she was actually created. Also, please take into fact that the person relating this particular update rarely lies, but may not be telling the truth...
> 
> Honestly, though. I don't care so much about the risk, I'd like a world with roughly a thousand percent more floral things. That's just me, though.  
> I've probably stared at buckets too long, or something.


	16. the sorrows of ol' fritz [some dark themes no. III involves raw sleaze]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven stories, and seven bullets.

**I.**

It was a smoke-filled bar. The kind you always joked about meeting people in; but you never added _sports_ in front, didja? Who the FUCK meets important people at a SPORTS bar?  
Not him, nossir. And yet, here he was, talking to a well-dressed stranger, who'd... Told him some kinda allegory about dolls, he hadn't really been paying attention.  
  
Melvin grubbed at his eyes, tried to clean out the gunk at the edges.  
He'd been wearing his contacts today, hoping to pick up chicks. Instead, here he was talking to a guy, uuuuuh, a guy...  
The guy, at his edges...

 _Ah,_ there we go! So, this guy had probably served in some field or another, right? Clean-cut, blond hair, dressed in a sharp suit. Smelled like smoke.  
The sort of guy Melvin would have normally told to go take a hike, but...  
  
"So you're saying... There's no way to trace it back to me? It's completely anonymous?"  
  
"That's correct."  
  
Even when he'd been talking before, he'd managed to make paragraphs sound curt. Professional.  
It kinda irritated Melvin, who had the permanent irritation of anyone who worked IT.  
But at the same time, even though the premise was ridiculous, he kind of wanted to believe in it?..  
  
Around them, people laughed. Ate fried, chalky food. Drank watery beer.  
... The stranger caught his eyes, and nodded quietly. At least he seemed as irritated by that as Melvin was? Or was it just -  
  
"So you're saying, sorry, so the deal is, if I accept your magic bullet, my boss'll end up dead? No problem, no questions asked. What are you, a hitman?"  
  
"No."

Melvin waited, patiently.  
  
"I generally consider myself a pacifist."  
  
The roar of laughter as some team scored some kind of goal was met by Melvin's own raucous laughter. They fused together, and he blinked a few times.  
Hell, but this guy, sometimes he seemed almost to blur -

"You gonna drink that, buddy?"  
  
A pause.  
A long, drawn-out sigh.  
A quick, fluid motion, seizing at the end of a team commemorative cup.  
  
The sound of fluid being imbibed, and - falling to the floor, maybe?  
The cup hit the counter solidly, and it might have been just another trick of the light, but the stranger seemed a little glum, rather than as stoic as he'd been before.  
  
"Delicious. Let us return to my offer..."  
  
"Yeah, fuck it, I'll take it. That bastard deserves it. Wait, no, before I accept... What's the catch?"  
  
"There is no catch, save the consequences. It will pierce your problem, but the rest depends on _you._ "  
  
"Hey, waitaminute. Didn't you just say it'd solve everything?!"  
  
"No. I said _no._ "

And the stranger paused, blue eyes reflexively staring out the window.  
The window was occluded by smoke.  
It might as well have been a window into an artist's depiction of hell.  
  
"What will happen is the man you wish dead, will be dead. No more, no less. No one will tie it to you, unless you go to great efforts to tie it to yourself. But the rest is your own fate to make."  
  
Melvin sighed, and lay back into the uncomfortable plush seating.  
His own destiny...  
  
He'd believed in that sort of thing, when he was a kid. A dumb kid, with, what, hopes and dreams.  
Dreams of being something else other than an IT drone, resenting his boss for not knowing how to work excel and demanding they all show up two hours early.  
Oh, well. _He wasn't that kid, anymore._  
  
"Sure. Gimme your magic bullet, stranger."  
  
If it had been a movie, perhaps the stranger would have laughed, or cackled, or done something dramatic.  
He simply shrugged his shoulders, perhaps sighed. Placed a single shell against the table, and left.  
  
The next day, Melvin read about the car accident on the interstate.  
His stomach roiled - and that was it.  
Life continued.  
  
 **II.**  
  
" **CUT!** Christ, this is supposed to be a comedy, not a morgue! Take a break."  
  
It wasn't the set of a movie, but a local theatre production.  
The director, a real dictator wannabe, had delusions of importance that made Rosa want to scream.  
She couldn't, though; it was this, or get another job. And then how on earth would she find time to be home for Celeste..?  
  
A few old people always came to see the rehearsals, usually community supporters who had a pass.  
The start had intimidated her a bit, especially since this was a performance she was getting _paid_ for. But now, they were kind of comforting.  
The way they fell asleep in their chairs, and -  
  
She caught his eyes almost instantly. They looked like someone had cut out a piece of sky, and stapled it to a man's face. Hair that had once been red, now grey.  
A dark grey three-piece suit. Austere, probably had done some community drama in his time?  
It wasn't like she was interested, but - as if in a trance, she walked over to where he sat.  
  
"I think you did good. All of you, actually."  
  
"Oh, you watched?!"  
  
Her shock quickly masked itself.  
  
"I mean, we're all right. Got a ways to go. Who are you, Mister..."  
  
"Werther. "  
  
"Oh, ahaha, like the candies?"  
  
She was surprised to see him look so confused.  
  
"You know, the - nevermind. So. Mr. Werther, what brings you to the _Origin_ on such a fine day in May?"  
  
"Business, as ever."  
  
"A... Scout?"  
  
Her heart skipped a beat.  
  
"Perhaps, of a sort. I'm actually here to make you an offer."  
  
Rosa sat down, her knees shaking. It was finally coming together, years after she'd planned, but _finally._  
Their lack of faith, dropping out of college, Celeste coming unexpectedly into her life, all of it - perhaps -  
  
"I have, in my position, something that will pierce the hearts of everyone present, and let them see you for who you truly are."  
  
"What, like, a drug?"  
  
Her stuttered reply masked the disappointment it wasn't a role, directly. Hell, what could even do something like that?!  
And yet... His quiet confidence made it seem almost real.  
  
"No."  
  
Time passed, and she felt sweat trickling down her spine.  
  
"Are you... Going to..."  
  
"Rosa. Are you content here? Working tirelessly, without thanks?"  
  
She shut her eyes, and mirrored his reply with her own.  
  
"... No."  
  
"I have, in my position, something that will pierce the hearts of everyone present. It will show them the truth. It will grant you a chance."  
  
"Just - just one chance...?"  
  
"Only one."  
  
"Pretend I didn't find this whole proposal ridiculous, Werther. No, wait, pretend that I _did._ What sort of - sort of _asshole_ walks into somebody else's life, starts spouting all this nonsense, and just... Do you get off on it? Are you one of those creeps who just looks for people having a rough time, and - messes with them? Is that who you are?"  
  
He was quite silent.  
His answer was as sombre as smoke.  
  
"No."  
  
"... And as is it stands, the only reason I am here is that I respect your struggle. Declining my offer would please me greatly."

"I... What..."  
  
Her head hurt. Rosa's head felt as if it had been split into tiny atoms, germs of ideas that promised her a bright future, combatting the ludicrousness of - of all of this!  
  
He meant it though.  
Absolutely, he meant every word.  
She shut her eyes.  
  
"And what if... If I accepted, just theoretically, what would the consequences be?"  
  
"None, besides what you make of them."  
  
Of course, she'd already made her decision; but there was no consequence, nor did she ever see him again.  
And the play went off legendarily, the entire small town coming to see the shitty production of a shitty play in a shitty theatre in a shitty town.  
It was a coincidence, certainly, that the agent she'd wrote off got back in touch, too.  
  
Life even improved.  
In time, she forgot she'd even met him; and that was fine.

 **III.**  
  
"Are you going to ask for my soul or something? Sorry, aha, joking, joking."  
  
Brenton wasn't joking. It was obvious on every corner of his skin. That forced smile, that awkward tint to his cheeks that reeked of stale booze and poor decisions.  
Everything about him said that, if he wasn't suspicious, he would have pushed the joke farther.  
  
It wasn't every day somebody was just sitting at his desk, not to talk about legal matters, but about - hmn, a deal?  
A shady deal. Like the kind he saw in movies, yeah, a movie kind of deal. Something like out of that one where the devil was a lawyer, yeah, that'd been a treat.  
Yet, this guy, this smug asshole, he had to be smug, having a joke...  
  
"Of course not. For one, I reject the existence of a soul."  
  
Brenton burst into laughter. This guy! This dude, holy hell, what a fucking response!  
He believed it, he totally believed it! Pressing his wide smile back onto his face and leaning against his elbow, Brenton scooted forward in his chair.  
Colonel Goltz was clearly one of those humourless military men who never smiled, never frowned, never expressed anything but boring sober stoicism.  
They needed to lighten up a bit. Needed to get laid.  
  
"Cool, cool, cool, colonel. But I mean, walking into a lawyers' office, and offering to help kill his wife? Man, you have some big ones."  
  
"I'm neither offering to help, nor judging you. I will say one thing, however."  
  
For a second, he saw it; a reflection, thick and ashen, teeth as black as soot.  
A wire-thin smirk.  
  
"You really could pursue a divorce. In my time, that was impossible."  
  
"How fuckin' old are you?! Haha, oh, man, you kill me, Goltz. Let's talk, then."  
  
Brenton wheeled over to the door, and kicked it shut with his foot.  
Then, he wheeled back and placed his arms to the back of his neck, stretching lightly.  
  
"I don't know if you get it, but, divorces are messy. I mean, bitches, right, they just whine and whine and whine. And their families! Like, oh, you ruiiiiiiiiiiined our daughters liiiiiiiife!"  
  
"So I see."  
  
"Right, stay with me, Goltz. I'd considered doing this messy, just me and some of the guys. But I mean, getting caught when I have my whole future ahead of me... These guys, though, they're rough, I know they'd take one for the team. But me, I've got ambitions. So, what is it exactly about _your_ offer that makes it more, uh... Sanguine?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
...  
Even the smiles melted, after awhile.  
Brenton tried to keep his up, but it was impossible when looking into that face, that terrible face.  
It was like Goltz had been carved from stone, and the more you looked at him, the more you saw the flaws, the spaces left blank. And you couldn't look away, because his eyes were fucking _stars,_ and something about them...  
  
"All I offer, is a single moment in time. It will pierce all your problems and concerns, and render them void."  
  
Brenton laughed; it wasn't his usual, confident laugh.  
Nervousness permeated the air, but Goltz was cold as ice.  
  
"If you accept, you will leave no blood on your hands."  
  
"And, the rest..."  
  
"You might make mistakes in the future. Continue to, as you say, fuck up. I _can't_ fix that, though, can I?"  
  
He didn't laugh. He pronounced sounds that you could identify as laughter, but he didn't laugh.  
  
"Why should... I believe you, man, this is all so..."  
  
"In general, I only look for people that are new to this business. In your case, previous mistakes made things more interesting."  
  
Goltz said, neutrally, and Brenton felt the shakes coming over him.  
  
"Do you want money, is that it, I'll give you - "  
  
"I am not here to extort you. Just to offer you a service."  
  
And he accepted, of course. How could he not?  
He would have accepted in the past, too. It would have made everything so much easier, fuck, fuck, fuck.  
Even his sweat felt coated with sweat.  
  
When he opened his eyes, Goltz was gone; but the man had left an absolutely ancient handgun on the table. It was coated with rust, looked like it had been abandoned since... What, a century ago?  
This was his ticket out of the old ball-and-chain, and back to a life of luxury? It was just - an old gun...  
  
Brenton shut his eyes.  
  
He remembered.  
Remembered a time when he hadn't felt like this, hadn't screwed over everyone he'd known; when he hadn't meant to, hadn't meant to, hadn't meant to.  
When he'd smiled, and meant it. When everything hadn't been so... Complex...  
  
And his fingers itched.  
And his soul itched.  
And it truly was a magic bullet, piercing all regrets and misfortune, and as he slumped across the table, not a splatter of red struck his hands.  
  
 **IV.  
**  
The colonel was a plump man, fond of beer and smoked meat.  
He had developed a love of the simple things in life, but was known as a jovial man to all his friends.  
It had been fortune, perhaps, that he'd met another military man in this place, but, so it was!  
  
And this grand fellow, this perfect example of military ascetism, god, this man of marble!  
  
His dark brown hair was cut close around his face, he had no stubble to speak of, and he carried himself perfectly.  
His posture was impeccable, simply impeccable! Now, the colonel felt it was a bit of a shame not to let oneself go on vacation, but, so it was.  
  
"So, aha, Woland, was it?"  
  
"Roland, sir."  
  
"Roland, so it was. You're telling me you have a 'magic bullet' for weight loss, hmnn? That seems a bit fortunate, a bit lucky!"  
  
"I said no such thing, sir. What I have is - "  
  
"NO! I heard you the first time, you said it! Not me, you said it! That you had a magic bullet to cure a bit of the old paunch!"  
  
Roared the colonel, and even the stoic gentleman before him (such a man! a fine man!) was cowed into obedience...  
Or possibly bemusement, the colonel rarely payed deep attention to the emotions of others, in any regard (and so it was).  
Slapping his gut, he glared at Roland.  
  
"Well, then, what is it?! Do you, or don't you?"  
  
"In my possession, I have an item that will allow others to see you, as you see yourself."  
  
"So... You... Do?"  
  
The words strained themselves out of tightly ground teeth, looking for any sign of a lie.  
Roland seemed terribly exhausted, but carried on. The poor bastard! If only he could speak as finely as he appeared!  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Very good, Roland, very good. Now, I hate shortcuts! Any man would tell you, I hate shortcuts. God! I hate them! They're wretched little things you use to jump the tracks of life, I say."  
  
"Of course, sir."  
  
Roland listened intently.  
In fact, it seemed he listened very well.  
All he did was listen, as the colonel went on and maintained a great force of words about heroism, death, bootstraps, loss, Fiji, the state of mankind, the most wondrous way to eat an orange, blood oranges only, of course, as was proper...  
  
The sun set, and only then did the colonel realise the time.  
Crossing his arms above his gut, he 'hrmned' and 'hawed,' reflecting on the vast ocean of nothing that Roland had said.  
  
"VERY WELL! You drive a damn hard bargain, Roland, but I'll take it! Damn the consequences!"  
  
"You never asked about them."  
  
Roland said, congenially.  
But, in their hearts (and for different reasons) they both knew he did not care, gave not a single care at all.  
  
And so, life continued unchanged; for the people in the colonels' life whom he cared for already saw him as he saw himself (so it was!), for better and for worse.  
As for the consequences, once more, they remained...  
  
 **V.**  
  
"You have to do it. Please."  
  
The tiny cabin was barely fit for one, let alone an older woman and her dog.  
And the dog was old, too.  
  
"I don't usually do that."  
  
Said the stranger, but not unkindly.  
  
"But I can't..."  
  
"I know. Once more; is there anyone in this place?"  
  
"Only me. Just me."  
  
For miles and miles, only nature and the single outpost reigned; there truly was nobody else, save an old woman and her beloved companion.  
The stranger sighed, and placed his hand gently against the canine stomach, only just beyond that of a pup. It didn't seem to be in pain, and like many dogs, enjoyed being pet.  
Of course, it shook once in a while - and whimpered, and retched.  
  
"What's her name?"  
  
Asked the stranger, quietly as always.  
  
"Vala."  
  
Replied the older woman; and she had removed her glasses, and hidden her face in her hand.  
  
"Please. I've lost so many. I'm just - so..."  
  
He said nothing, and led the dog out. Vala followed, not showing any great concern to the parasites.  
Outside, the sun was bright. Trees hung like curtains; it was a good day, and reminded him of a certain childhood memory, and a certain boy he'd known.  
... And he rubbed the dog's stomach, once more.  
  
It was an impulse; there was no great reason to it, but he was an _exceptionally_ skilled marksman  
  
When Vala's owner heard the sound, she wept; but she had lived alone for a very long time, and soon steeled herself.  
She could not explain why Vala was healthy, and she had surely heard the familiar crack.  
After she'd finished crying, happily, she put on her sturdy boots, and even found a casing.  
  
But it seemed that whatever the stranger had shot, he had killed.  
And as for the stranger, he was gone.  
And as for the consequences...  
  
 **VI.**  
  
Schulze continued to weep, so much so that he could not say when the stranger entered the room.  
The room had once been a very fine public library; but in the span of a single day, it had been ruined utterly.  
Fine medieval manuscripts, torn from top to bottom, their binding stripped and ruined.  
  
Great showpieces and old relics, modern texts and pulp, all of them had been burnt and ripped and destroyed.  
  
Schulze was not an angry man, nor an emotional man, and yet he still wept.  
Finally, he acknowledged the intruder to his mausoleum, rubbing mucus and tears free in one stroke.  
  
"What. Have you come to point out the folly of a library in these times?"  
  
207X was a peculiar year, of course. Schulze was a fan himself, and had not expected the usual games to go so sourly.  
But drink and excitement had led to one thing, and the bad news of the new plant closing had led to another.  
And the library had been the only building in this part of town open, so when the revelers-turned-hooligans had come through...  
  
"No."  
  
...  
And Schulze narrowed his eyes, rheumy and glass-lined as they were.  
Something about the fellow was off; his posture was perfect, entirely too perfect.  
His hair, was it black? Yes. Black, then.  
  
Like...  
  
"What, then? I have - to archive this all, somehow. Make sense of it."  
  
"I do not wish to intrude. And yet, I have an offer."  
  
"Unless you know a better method of sortition, you can take your offer and shove it, young man."  
  
Schulze said, but he couldn't muster any more anger. For one, was the man truly _young?_ He seemed - almost ageless, yes, ageless.  
Like porcelain, perhaps. Schulze scratched at his grey stubble, and narrowed his eyes further.  
  
"You - did you have a book to return?"  
  
"No."  
  
The man _glided_ over as easily as if the floor had been made of ice.  
Schulze knew it, knew something was wrong; his brain screamed at him, almost as if it might burst.  
But his soul, quietly, knew _hunger._ It waited, in curiousity, for what might be offered.  
  
"I think your desire is misguided."  
  
Began the stranger, and Schulze removed his glasses, because they _could not help, here._  
  
"But, if you wished it, I have, in my possession, something that can punish all those who have done you wrong."  
  
Silence reigned, punctuated only by the breeze through broken windows causing torn pages to rustle.  
And Schulze stared, but decided not to see.  
  
"You have to understand," he began, weakly.  
  
"It's not for me. It's for the books. They're the only ones in the world left. Like this, I mean. Please, don't judge me - "  
  
"I don't."  
  
Responded the stranger, quietly, and Schulze believed him.  
So he took no further convincing; and it was only after he'd assented that he _ran_ after the retreating figure, the smoky hazy surrounding him echoing with the smell of black powder and the ring of tinnitus.  
  
"No, please! It's not for me, it's not for me! It's for the books, please listen! I'm not asking you to, it's not me!"  
  
And he paused, old bones shaking, and then tried to yell, but couldn't.  
The stranger had heard his request, of course.  
  
"The date is April 30th."  
  
He paused, framed in the torn doorway; he wore a uniform that most museums held only in replica.  
His face was a writhing mass of shadows, and his eyes were as blue as gunmetal.  
He could not smile, but he saluted, smartly.  
  
When Schulze heard the news that nineteen 'hooligans' had been found dead, their tourbus spinning idly against harsh rocks against the beach, he knew despair.

 **VII.  
  
** The air smelled of lemons, and cigarettes.  
  
Frona sat against the steps, books balanced against her knees.  
She wasn't smoking; the air always smelled like that, here. All she was doing was thinking.  
  
Against the setting sun, the skyline rose; it had been growing and growing for years. To think their little island had burst so rapidly, so quickly...  
  
She thought, a lot.  
Because it was a way to kill time.  
...  
  
"Are you just going to watch me, all day?"  
  
Even though she'd gotten used to people watching her, that'd stopped somewhat after she'd become known for 'lying.' And after she became known for 'lying,' nobody had wanted to be seen with her, which suited her just fine.  
But there was always someone who wandered around and interjected himself into your life, right?  
She closed her book, and glowered at him.  
  
... Then narrowed her eyes.  
  
"Why are you smoking?"  
  
"Hmn."  
  
Answered the man, conversationally, but she'd motherfucking _heard_ that surprise, he didn't get to take that back.  
  
"It's the normal state of things. I'm surprised. It's been awhile since someone's truly seen me, from the beginning."  
  
"Are you a ghost, or something? Or is this - me hallucinating, did I finally snap?"  
  
"No. I don't think so. On either account."  
  
She shrugged, and decided neither particular mattered; if he was a ghost, or she had lost it, he could stay.  
He sat against the steps, too, at a respectable distance.  
...  
  
"Plato?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm not really interested in him, though. I wish we had more on Porphry."  
  
"I see."  
  
"And I mean, I'm really just counting down the days until my next economics class opens up. I like philosophy, but it's - going nowhere fast, right?"  
  
She'd heard that one, a lot.  
She almost believed it.  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
"Not really much of a conversationalist, are you?"  
  
"No."  
  
She laughed, in spite of herself.  
If this was what it meant to finally have _actually_ started lying, to herself, it could be worse.  
  
"I do think there's a value to it, though. To any creative thing, really. I enjoy opera."  
  
The words seemed to take a great effort for him to say. She paused, narrowed her eyes, and pulled a white page from the book at the bottom.  
She hadn't sketched much - and the charcoal was a bit unfamiliar, but not terribly so.  
  
"That's nice, but it doesn't put food on the table, and it doesn't give you freedom."  
  
Ghost-man didn't have an answer for that, she thought - a little smugly.  
The drawing had turned out bad, but not - _bad,_ not terrible.  
No. She kind of liked it.  
  
"May I ask about those?"  
  
He said, _ignoring it entirely,_ and she laughed again.  
  
"What, these? So you're a really ancient ghost, huh... They're kind of popular, now. _Gramps._ "  
  
No, the spectre didn't take the bait - just turned over her phone charms, again and again, as if transfixed.  
  
"Stop manhandling them, you asshole! Listen, if you're so behind the times, I'll educate you. That's Heart, she's the leader..."  
  
He listened well.  
Very well. (Although he did testily suggest French instead of German, which amused her, and she couldn't say why.)  
  
All he did was listen, until the sun had set.  
  
...  
  
"I really have lost it, haven't I..."  
  
Frona muttered, the night air cool and balmy.  
Her dark companion sighed, and adjusted his posture, as if the slightest slip or lapse in discipline would destroy him.  
Perhaps to him, it would.  
  
"No."

"Look, I can't deal with monosyballism, right now..."  
  
"Do you pray for a saviour?"  
  
"... I don't have to answer that - "  
  
But it was very clear, somehow, that he didn't judge her at all.  
Didn't think...  
She was...  
 _Lying._  
  
"Every day."  
  
"I do, as well."

He paused, adding tersely.  
  
"I just wondered if you thought these four would save you. And if, after that, they could find time for one more."  
  
The entity was so damn serious she couldn't handle it, and burst into laughter; it felt good, laughing like she meant it.  
She laughed until her gut hurt, wiped the tears from her eyes, and massaged at her badly dyed black hair. Her scalp hurt too, come to think of it.  
  
"They will. Everyone knows it. And if everyone keeps believing in them, I feel like..."  
  
And she wasn't alone; for the past couple years, people had started to believe, _too._  
That - maybe, the bad days had passed, and maybe, just maybe, good could win.  
  
His smile was like a torn thundercloud.  
  
"While we wait, I have an offer."  
  
She listened, and rejected it without thinking too much.  
It didn't matter if there was nothing that came attached; it didn't matter if it was the wrong decision.  
But there wasn't anything he could have said that would have changed her mind.  
  
"You probably think I'm pretty dumb. It'd be easy to agree to."  
  
"Perhaps. But, I honestly think you'll be just fine."  
  
... There was a terrible sincerity to his words as he stood up, dusting an overcoat worn like a cape.  
She wanted to say, hey, it'll work out for you, too. Instead...  
  
"Hey, why don't you keep this? I'm not an artist, but I do sketches, so..."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Once more, there was a terrible sincerity to his voice.  
She wanted to tell him that _he_ would be all right, _too,_ even if it was a lie for the both of them.  
A lie they could fight.  
  
But all she could do was force the torn page into hands like shadows.  
He carried it, gently.  
  
When she blinked, he was gone.  
  
  
 **VIII.  
  
  
** It ended as it began.  
The place was not a bar, nor a pub, or a hall, or beergarden.  
You could call it an outdoor foodstand, except that it was entirely enclosed by metal facades, buildings built in such a hurry that they fell down and sloped inwards, like a messy hive.  
  
He could not eat, but he had ordered something. Noodles.  
And he couldn't smell the noodles, but he could vaguely feel the steam, which was enough.  
  
Across from him was a woman. She was young, and certain, and had no great desire, a wrong to see righted, or a justice she wished shattered.  
But, in several minutes...  
  
Down from the buildings without regard to windows or construction or civilians, rappelled armed men and women.  
Most wore black; some wore white armour, and seemed to float, rather than to climb.  
In fact, they might have floated; humans had come quite far.  
  
He truly wished he could eat the noodles. As some might say, so it was.  
  
"There is no place for spirits or devils in _our_ world."  
  
Said the woman, fervently.  
And he wondered if she'd like or dislike the fact that he agreed.  
Nodding, he stood up, stood at his full height.  
  
Some of the new ones recoiled, showed fear; but then they realised he was more interested in the fading steam than a fight, and grew confident.  
A confidence that faded as he reached into his uniform pocket, and retrieved a single shell.  
  
Calmly, he put it on the table, counting as he did to make sure; one, two... Three, four... Five. _Six._  
  
"This one is for you. You can try to get rid of it, but it may find it's way back."  
  
She did not try to throw it away; merely rotated the shell in her fingers, even as he went quietly with the ones they called 'fixers'.  
He had long since grown tired of fighting, for a savior that would never come.  
Perhaps he would try _waiting,_ instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, eight stories, and the seventh bullet.
> 
> September came early this year, I guess. I don't know if I did a good job with it, but none of the people der Freischütz meets actually face anything good or bad outside of their own choices. Like any good tale about a deal with a devil, the important thing is how people react. There are quite a few tales of devilry in here, too... I'm amazed I couldn't cram Lampert the strelets in there, too.
> 
> Although having a freeshooter show up at pivotal battles is tradition, I feel those stories are overdone, often a bit trite (at best) and can be... Inconsiderate (at worst), I also feel like the kind of memories that might spring to his mind might be much smaller, more personal tales. Rather than focus on punishment or lapse, like the original story, I prefer to leave it vague if any of these stories faced that, besides their own doubts or actions. 
> 
> Hopefully this gives a good backlog of stories to work through while I work on what's next..!


	17. a satisfying meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hippety hoppity, let's go get food from the shoppety.  
> If you want to loop crime lord infinitely while reading, I won't blame you.  
> In fact, I wouldn't blame you for looping it forever, sneaking it onto your friends' walkman music device, recording it pain-stakingly in midi format...  
> You do you. I respect you.

The weather was a freezing rain that could never reach the ground, because of the layers of buildings crashing over one another like waves.  
The district itself was wedged in-between that grey area where the Backstreets either began, or ended.  
  
In short, if you were the kind of boring breadmaker who wanted to appear lively without any real risk, it was the perfect place for you.  
  
Danger?  
There was still danger, sure. Always was, but that wasn't why she was here.  
It was just - the ramyun was really good.  
  
Like most restaurants, it was a 'stall' that spawned multiple buildings, attached to walls and manned entirely by crappy service robots... Well, counters-with-claws.  
Stools were placed cheek to cheek, but you could watch your ramyun being cut.  
  
To her right was a middle-aged woman. Speaking of breadearners?  
Probably the sort who'd once written a letter to a fixer, felt like a daredevil, and kept on coming back to relive the memory.  
And to her left was some middle-aged man with a tonsure, who kept croaking, kind of, and staring.  
  
She slurped noodles through her helmet, and his faced turned a weird shade of red.  
  
"Excuse, excuse me. Are you... By any chance..?"  
  
 _Oh?_  
Had she been recognised by some rando?  
  
"... One of those _Rhino Squadron_ fellows? I say?"  
  
Wordlessly, she removed her helmet, and placed it at her side, displacing his bowl slightly.  
Her emotionless expression did not shift a muscle as she gestured to the (stylish! functional!) ears on the helmet, and at herself.  
... He still didn't get it when she held her hands to her head, like floppy ears.  
  
"Yes. I'm a Rhino. Haven't you heard? We love noodles."  
  
And after that blatant lie, he _still_ made a disappointed click of his tongue, before going back to his noodles. What a waste of energy.  
It would've been even more of a waste of energy to put the helmet back on, and she was still pretty hungry.  
The noodles tasted like meat, or maybe algae, or both - like everything did, these days. But they were still noodles, right? Fuel for the fight.  
  
But the real regulars knew one of the three hidden treasures of this place was the thirst-devastator. A green liquid (probably made from algae, too) that tasted like ground spinach.  
Some people didn't like that, apparently. Their loss.  
  
... Now the woman was staring at her.  
  
"Oh, oh my goodness! A soldier!"  
  
She twisted theatrically in her seat, but nobody else reacted.  
Nobody was here to make friends, so why had Myo had the misfortune of sitting between two loudmouths...  
  
"That is me-oh," she said with a lapine smile.  
Nobody budged nor stirred, which suited her fine.  
... Save the woman. Damn. Too bad.  
  
And now the other guy, too?!  
  
"I, I, y'know. This lady's a rhino squadder. She's probably a real killer. Probably why she's eating so much ramyun!"  
  
"Do you think? She could be here to kill us, oh, my stars!.."  
  
Myo ignored their personal drama, which was probably incredibly fascinating, and continued to eat.  
She even continued to eat as the power flickered and died, which was a regular occurrence, but never failed to elicit shocked 'ooooos' and 'aaaahs.'  
These **fucking** people.  
  
"Miss, Miss Rhino. How many men have you killed."  
  
"Hundreds of thousands."  
  
"Ohhhh, how terrible! Did they die violently?!"  
  
"I'm under strict protocol not to tell you that their deaths were so terrible, so indescribable - "  
  
(The power flickered, and restored again.)  
  
" - that even mentioning them would bring the Eye right down on this place."  
  
Both of them shivered.  
All right. This was getting a little fun.  
... She ordered another bowl, red eyes drifting from face to sweaty face.  
  
"You know. A dev, devil was supposed to have been caught here! Right here! A real devil! A monster!"  
  
"Oh, a monster... A devil, how frightening! But I heard that the devil was actually a savior, a beautiful princess!"  
  
"It was three princesses, you, you fool! What do you think, Miss Rhino?!"  
  
"I don't particularly believe in fairytales."  
  
She answered, before taking a long and drawn-out sip of green drink.  
It tasted better the more pained that guy's expression became.  
... He was all right, wasn't he? He looked like his head might become a bullet, just twist and pop off.  
  
"But I heard, I heard there's a giant monster beneath the earth they cut all the artificial meat right off of. And that's what we're all eating, now! Every day!"  
  
"Well _I_ heard it's actually a screaming baby nightmare creature! And that we're not eating it, it's slowly eating all of us, screaming all the while!"  
  
"You should stop feeding off of each other. Your noodles are getting cold."  
  
She said, wondering if she should've just taken the free gift these kind civilians had been unintentionally offering.  
Civilians were always unintentionally offering things to her.  
It was a real miracle.  
  
"I think there can't, can't possibly a devil who's also a savior. The real savior will be a, a holy god..."  
  
"No, it'll be a beautiful..."  
  
...  
  
Her hud lit up, and Myo caught the familiar green light shining serenely out from under the helmet.  
She flung it on with a practiced ease, and was amazed at just how readily they forgot she was present.  
Now they were talking about how all the food was just more _Complete Food,_ which was just wack.  
  
But the stuff falling from the sky and crushing buildings along with the suddenly-burning rain might have been Complete Food.  
She didn't pay too much attention, because it died easily enough.  
  
It took fifteen seconds for the fighting to end.  
The grass was especially tall, today. Outside of a man who'd been standing under one of those shitty fake awnings, no casualties, no need to eliminate witnesses.  
Oh, but the stalls had been destroyed.  
  
"Wah."  
  
She muttered quietly, making sure she wasn't broadcasting to the rest of the squad.  
Gliding through the wreckage and debris, she approached two shadows, who were clutching to one another, terrified (and yet exhilarated? _people)_.  
  
"Nobody will save you. For free. But if you have money, you can always buy your way to salvation. Rabbit Squad thanks you for your interest."  
  
It wasn't a business card; Bedri had made them as a joke.  
But the folded synthetic cardboard had a stylised white rabbit, and she'd found it cute enough to keep them as a joke.  
Not a 'ha-ha' kind of joke, mostly.  
  
Today it was 'ha-ha' kind of joke.  
  
"... Just one more thing, actually. How could you see the ears and think rhinoceros?"  
  
Her orange-and-black armoured thumb pointed at civilian A, who shrugged.  
  
"Mi, miss. I have no clue what they look like!"  
  
 _Ah._  
That was a fair answer. She couldn't fault him really.  
But she could fault him for not recognising the superior beast.  
(She did, mentally.)  
  
<Captain! We're receiving reports of a request from another location. It seems to be that particular company, again!>  
  
<Again, huh? They really are a great client. Let's go mow the grass and get paid~>  
  
Just as the food had been a satisfying appetiser, there was still halogen light in the backstreets, and sweet green grass to taste.  
Maybe this time, she'd even get to see if that company truly had the legendary Red Mist in their employ, or it was just another ghost story, designed to scare away impressionable children...  
  
... Where was she supposed to find good ramyun, now?..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only reason fuck is in bold is because of Myo. Myo deserves to get the word fuck bolded. Because it's Myo.  
> Actually, I kind of wonder if one of the reasons she's so reluctant to take off her helmet (in addition to her identity as a Rabbit!) is that even still, albinism or albinism-adjacent science fiction shenanigans are somewhat rare..?
> 
> I don't know where else to put it, but my top Rabbit Squad moment was when a guy said calmly that the rabbits wouldn't be enough, walked even more calmly towards nothing there, and spiral-uppercutted the poor little thing with a combat knife, finishing him. I don't have any story I can put that in, but I want to immortalise that moment, so, here we are.
> 
> As a reminder, animal-themed private contractors eat multiple servings of fruits and vegetables per day.  
> They also stay hydrated and get plenty of rest (probably).  
> If you want to be as cool as Rabbit Squad, let's try to do the same.


	18. don't count on success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short look at the ABC gang when things aren't going so great.  
> No real depressing content, but if you read between the lines...

"Why did he go in alone? He knows he's not the best at convincing people, right?"  
  
Carmen has asked that statement three or four times already.  
I've tried to stop counting, because the act of counting makes me more nervous.  
And she's doing that little gesture, where she unties her hair...  
  
Of course, I want to say Ayin will be fine.  
I do believe in him, I do.  
  
"He felt it would be dangerous if you or I tried to argue for more grants too quickly. We stand out!"  
  
That's a lie.  
Nobody would say I stand out. It doesn't bother me.  
His real reasoning (which made sense) was that he was scared.  
  
And he asked me not to say anything.  
I want to tell her.  
  
Carmen sees right through me; I have to look away, keep my lips shut.  
Think of something, the project. It's a tether, between heaven and earth.  
What we're all striving for.  
  
"Ayin was... Okay, right?"  
  
She always smiles the hardest when she's worried. And what she means is, was he _angry._  
Because losing the funding from before will cut deeply, and leading a project isn't the same as being a researcher.  
And Carmen is an excellent leader. I think - I know there's nobody I'd trust more than her.  
And him.  
  
But, no one person can do everything.  
The papers feel like lead in my arms; Ayin is being escorted out, by two men.  
Dark clothes, not fixers.   
  
...   
Thank goodness...  
  
"Ayin, you, you..!"  
  
Her hands shake and roll in circles, and she's winking, like she might say 'you idiot' but would never say that.  
She's still scared.  
  
He grumbles, throws one of the fellows' hands back, sticks his in his coat.  
I should have hidden his cigarettes again.  
Note - hide his cigarettes, or just - burn them.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, me, me, _me._ Get lost, you goons."  
  
The goo - the fellows leave, their job done.  
Now _we're_ escorting him, and at first he resents us, but...  
  
Ayin looks like he's going to cry, and fights it.  
  
"Do you know what they said?"  
  
"... That you need to shave?"  
  
I offer, and he manages to smile.  
 _A bit._  
  
"I should've gone into robotics. X Inc. Those idiots, they have to know true artificial intelligence is impossible..."  
  
The relief slowly sliding across her face is like a salve. I can feel the beat of my own heart, slowing down.  
He's well enough to rant, which means _he's_ all right.  
... And I don't entirely disagree with him, but...  
  
"Heh, lookit my clever junior, too clever to realise he should've taken the well-paying job when he got the chance!"  
  
"Wasn't that well-paying. And I'm not gonna take any job that has me deal with any damn robots."  
  
"Are you still sore about that time I had a mysterious helper clean your room?"  
  
"Ben. It wasn't mysterious, it was a damn robot, and my room was already clean - "  
  
While we work, the reality hits.  
He didn't get the grants, therefore we need more money. I'm useless in this regard, which means it's up to her.  
 _Again._ And she's already accepted it with a smile, because it will work out, because it has to.  
  
I squeeze his hand, try to grasp it like a tether to earth or to heaven or to something; he either doesn't notice, or is searching for his own lifeline.  
  
We have to find some way to help.  
She's smiling, right now. Even uncertain, even afraid, her dream is still burning, made of light.  
  
 _We'll find a way._  
  
"... Hey, anyway. I thought I'd treat you two to something special, tonight. Real food, not that synthetic gunk. My treat."  
  
Carmen's eyes, inquisitive and bright, meet mine. We communicate in silence, but Ayin's gesture is sweet. Sincere.  
So we accept the bribe to put it all off until tomorrow, and have an ordinary evening.  
The three of us.  
  
Tomorrow, I'll go over everything again. By myself, if I have to.  
I'll find something. Some way to make it work.  
  
Tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually write fiction from a fixed perspective like this. And I really want to go into A's feelings on AI. I feel like so much could have been averted if he'd just had said 'hey good job angela you aren't carmen here's a thumbs up go get'em little slugger' or something. Okay, maybe not that.
> 
> As a side note, I imagine the herculean task of getting funding and resources was what drew the attention of the Head in the first place. But armoured by the idealism of young adults, that feeling of being invulnerable even when you know you aren't, it became /almost/ easy to say... We'll wait and see.
> 
> On a happier note, I really like to imagine Carmen and Ben get into fights about where to hide Ayin's cigarettes.
> 
> And although I could write many more notes here, happier and... Other, I'm gonna put it off till tomorrow, or whenever I update next.


	19. six underground [ft. cognition filter]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was gonna add this with a cognition-filter off option because I love boxy robots, they're the best.  
> But I wanted to not just have two slightly different chapters, so here we go.
> 
> Some of the raps are painful; most intentionally so. The ones that aren't intentional?  
> Mea culpa! I am but human, probably.

"All right, well, everybody! I hope you're all excited!"  
  
Malkuth clearly was; standing on a chair for a slightly better height, she could face all of the room, and all of the assembled!  
And in that sea of smiling faces, there weren't many... Smiling faces...  
Oh, _dear...  
  
_ "For the record, I'm still not sure if this is a good team-building exercise, Malkuth."  
  
Chided Angela, but _gently._  
  
"We can still pursue it, though..?"  
  
"For now."  
  
" _ **GREAT!**_ Then I'll start! Ahem!"  
  
Clasping her hands together, Malkuth beamed as brightly as she possibly could.  
She wanted to radiate confidence, and if she couldn't do that with a smile, she sure could try!

The reaction was still a bit - okay, very - poor, however.  
Hokma had nodded off, Gebura kept cracking her shoulders, and Tiphereth B was nowhere to be seen.  
But that was okay, all of this was okay!  
  
(She picked up her pen, and tapped it against her leg. It was still real, still solid. All of this'd turn out fine.)  
  
"I'm going to go over this once more, just so that we're all clear. I call this building better bonds through interpersonal music!"  
  
"A sing-along."  
  
Yesod muttered, and she had no desire to correct him.  
Moving right along, with the, ehe, sing-along...  
  
"No, a battle. A _rap_ battle!"  
  
Gwarrrrrrgh, why wasn't anyone reacting the way _she_ would have reacted? Taptaptap.  
It still felt real, and maybe the pen even felt a bit of residual anger? Fine, no, it was fine, even still.  
She just had to take control of the situation, show these jokers how things went.  
  
... Right. She'd practiced in her head, so...

 _"Stop being a gloomy gus, Yesod!  
We've only just started and  
though you might think it flawed  
_ _don't let it stick in your craw  
or hem and haw when you could  
finally thaw  
get known for smiling instead of trying  
to cut back on rhyming  
_ _step up and show me some awe!"  
  
_. . .  
  
"That was _awe-ful._ "  
  
Gebura snorted from behind where she'd placed one of Hod's employee manuals over her face.  
Hod kept trying to snatch it back, but Gebura just - pushed her away, lightly and firmly.  
Yesod was staring intently at Malkuth, his expression unreadable as always, and, okay...  
  
Those had been bad rhymes. So...  
  
 _"excuse me. what was the point of your rhymes.  
from where i watched they were practically crimes  
you callously committed  
to a flawed course of action  
and now you've hit  
with this relentless subtraction  
reductions absurdist and entirely abstractions  
of what was omitted in an idea  
factional and void of merit  
so sit down, Malkuth,  
you brought this shame; wear it."_  
  
Silence **reigned.**  
Yesod pulled the cover around his neck a little tighter. Perhaps it was out of nerves;  
or perhaps, it was...  
  
Tap.  
Tap.  
Tap.  
  
Each flick of the pen tapped against her clipboard. Malkuth let the pen _fall_ on the fifth stroke, stepping over it and getting right up in his space.  
Then she felt a bit awkward and took a step back, but it looked kind of intentional, so. No loss.  
  
" _No, excuse YOU, who do you think you are?  
Some tin-headed clerk with his heart in a jar  
oh, let me guess, you're still sad that it hurts  
guess what, life's a bitch, nobody cares that you're short - _"  
  
"I'm not that short."  
  
Yesod answered, politely, with a trace of amusement in his burnished brown eyes - but she chose to ignore him.  
 _  
"_ _\- try to cut back on the snappy retorts!  
No matter how much you tighten the vice  
you won't catch the grip  
and when you step to me  
guess what; you slip  
up and fall back and end in a fit  
guess that makes you the first viper to get bit._"  
  
Oh, damn, that's when she should've dropped her pencil...  
Compromising, Malkuth flung the clipboard at the ground.  
Chesed clapped, politely.  
  
" _you're obssessed with winning.  
i thought this was a team-building exercise?  
and yet  
my headache is worse from your petulant cries."_  
  
Shutting his eyes, Yesod sighed. Just a little.  
His glove-clad fingers snapped, and Hod began to tap her hands against her thighs.  
It was a kind of ungainly beat, if Malkuth were being honest, but...  
  
" _a machine that's been sinning.  
guess that's first.  
where was that fire in your first verse?  
_

 _you've barely started to walk and yet you're here in a run  
it's no wonder your charges all end up eating a gun.  
retire, malkuth. there's nothing left. you're done."  
  
_"YES! I mean, right, you got me, I'm through. Ehehe, but I'm counting on support from... Hod! I choose you!"  
  
Hod only had time to squeak "what" before...  
Well, before very little. Malkuth's legs might as well have been wheels as she tried to push, then pry Hod from her seat.  
Finally, Netzach whispered something encouraging and gave her a shaky thumbs up, and that - did the trick, sort of.  
Rappers shouldn't cry, though, Malkuth was pretty sure about that.  
  
"Okay, mmmmn... Here I go..."  
  
 _"Hey, Yesod, that was really unkind  
putting Malkuth and now me in a bind.  
gosh i hate this i hate being put on the spot  
malkuth you stink can i sit this one ouuuuuut"  
  
_("You can't!" Came a chirpy reply from where Malkuth had vanished behind Gebura. Only the faint hid of a red hairband could be seen.)  
  
No further verses came. Hod just sniffled, looked like she wanted to say something, and backed down.  
The atmosphere became nervous, and more than a little awkward.  
  
"Hod. I think it's fine if you take it easy. You're... Trying your hardest, after all."  
  
Yesod probably didn't mean to sound contemptuous, and yet...  
And yet..!  
  
"U, u... U...ck..."

Hod shook; her cowlick quivered.  
And then, the miracle happened.  
  
" _Fuck you, Yesod, you venomous glitch  
nobody but me can make me their bitch.  
You act like you're some genius but guess what  
everybody sees through you fess up  
  
your colour scheme's blindin  
and i'm barely mindin_  
 _my business when you storm in  
like you're a fine man and i'm just the refinement  
of positively negative enkephalin sludge  
worth less to you than squashing a bug  
beneath your pointlessly occluding shoes  
so spare me your preachy views  
and your choosy truths  
i'll reject them with violence  
and come out anew  
'cause i'm hod i'm the training team i'm legendary  
daughter of god spitting education in binary  
admire me and show some respect  
sit your snake ass down! GENUFLECT!_"  
  
Hod had chosen what (she felt was) her meatiest finger that wasn't her middle finger, because she still didn't want to flip Yesod off?  
But she did wave it around his (impassive) face a bunch. He nodded, politely, gave her a very lacklustre highfive, and sat down.  
To his credit, he did put his hands together and look mildly genuflective.  
  
"Guess that's me, then... All right, Hod, go easy on m - "  
  
 _"NO WAY, FUCK YOU TOO, NETZACH  
I'm **HOD** and when I'm on the attack  
ain't no surviving my pack  
we run **WILD**  
we run **FERAL** we don't care for your peril  
read the manual you dumbass and save us the sass  
netzach?  
a d-lister drugfiend from the back of the class  
the first to be the first of the last  
flatline out and give it a rest  
you put me up to this, so -_ "  
  
"Haha, you know, I really like grass."  
  
The somewhat attentive crowd booed and hissed, but Netzach merely shrugged, seemingly unfazed.  
His arms behind his head, he sniffed a bit, tried to tilt his head from side to side.  
  
" _Yeah. I put you up to this. Sorry.  
Rap battles aren't my thing.  
I'm just a bit wary  
of seeing my pals  
at each others' throats.  
But, hey, we're doing this?  
 **Let's go.**  
  
Don't act like you know everything.  
Seems you're just now seeing what I've seen  
my whole life at the edge of the screen  
inner demons stretched out  
and ruined  
serene lives that ought to have been **me.**  
  
enjoy being on top while it lasts.  
somebody always comes by and takes you have.  
you'll pay for it  
just like we all will  
down here  
  
tell me, hod.  
was it worth it  
to fight back your fear?_"  
  
She paused, eyes shut, for a minute.  
  
"I think it was, I mean..."  
  
" _hell yeah it was, you sanctimonious prick  
who told you you can pick  
what matters to me,   
what makes me tick?  
but i'm through   
with sharing my splendor  
with a guy who's more talk than tender  
Tiphereth, you're up, you're my defender!"  
_  
"Uh, me? Haha, all right..."  
  
Tiphereth B responded, even as Tiphereth A (who had been enjoying herself and bobbing her head in time with Hod's rhymes) started trying to telepathically communicate with him.  
Apparently, B had a sort of mental deflector shield on, because he just walked up confidently, looking cheerful - as an equally-cheerful Hod sank into a comfy pre-warmed seat.  
Such a great reward, rap battles were great...  
  
Adjusting his neck ribbon, TIphereth B took the 'stage.'  
Given that the 'stage' was literally just the centre of this kind of sweaty room, it shouldn't have meant much.  
The energy, though, was real. His dull blue eyes scanned the crowd; he smiled, a bit.  
  
"Hi. I'm pretty sure I like rap.  
It seems great, actually. But I haven't had enough time to really find what I like, or develop my own style.  
Figuring out what that means to you is complex, huh?.."  
  
Lo, it was as if the entire room had entered a vortex, and all the energy was being completely depleted.  
Chesed had fallen face-first into his coffee, Gebura was staring forward with a very blank expression, trying to decipher some hidden meaning, and as for Tiphereth A...  
Her face was so focused you could feel the desperation emanating from it, a disparate and desperate plea of only one word:  
  
 **TRY!**  
  
... Tiphereth B sighed, and looked down at his feet.  
  
"None of this will matter."  
  
It was so quiet, you could barely hear him, and too quiet to draw the attention back.  
You would have had to have being watching closely, listening closely in the first place to see the war of emotions reflected on his face.  
  
(And yet, two people were.)  
  
" _why are wasting time  
on something   
you'll all soon forget  
here,   
where the sun is hidden  
in a sea of regret  
  
there's no point in fighting  
or winning  
or trying to win.  
we've locked up the reason  
and just let it rest  
so that eventually"  
  
_His voice trailed off, 'flickering' slightly, as if it were a candle burnt down the core.  
Tiphereth B's gaze could burn a hole in the floor. He knelt down, and wrapped his hands around his knees.  
  
"Pass."  
  
It was aggressive and confident and _angry,_ but it seemed like her words revitalised him, almost impercetibly.  
Tiphereth B's hand met hers, and A took the stage - pushing her hair back around her, eyes closed.  
She didn't announce anything, but launched into action the moment her eyes opened, alive and green.  
  
" _so what if we're stuck in hell?  
you think i'll give up just because  
of your half-hearted farewell?  
we're all sick of fighting  
and pretending to know  
what we should be trying  
but you can't burrow below  
there's no room for air  
and if we're trapped here... **so?**_

 _maybe everything in the world repeats  
murders conscious purpose  
beneath concrete replete  
with defeat as your sense of self deletes  
what is left and leaves no option but to retreat  
fine.  
but i'll stay here and fight to the end  
if i can bear it you can  
i'll give you my hand  
and stand on my own feet  
just like we had planned  
you can't give up now. I..."  
  
_She stopped, the angry energy that had propelled her forward fading. No matter how long she'd been down here, she still had elements of being a child.  
The words had left her, and she had nothing left - Tiphereth A was clutching at embers that couldn't even burn bright.  
And the room had attention and energy, once more - all awkward expressions trying not to meet.  
  
Gebura ground the cigarette down so harshly you could almost hear it.  
  
"That was pretty good. Okay, my turn."  
  
Looking up with a split-second relief, Tiphereth A quickly hid it behind a haughty smirk.  
  
"Betcha can't match mine."  
  
"We'll see, kiddo. You're on."  
  
 _"'cause i'm the **bomb** dropped  
whose beats stopped the calm  
as your rhymes flopped  
so try and don't cry none  
just step up and get topped;"  
  
_Gebura held the mic close to her as she went off, eyes shut. Her entire posture was into it, and her force had brought back the interest that had hidden itself behind a few moments of unpleasant self-introspection.  
  
" _and i've fought battles less vacant  
than the stares on your faces  
while you blatantly patent losing  
to my crimson repayment of the debt you've forsaken  
you aren't dead til' I say so  
the red mist's awakened -"_  
  
"That's good, but, you know... I'll try my hand."  
  
Chesed took a small sip from his coffee, and placed the mug **down.**  
  
"S _orry, but were you talking to me?  
_ _I don't see a red mist but ashes  
spontaneously   
telling me to be less carefree  
but I don't listen to smoke  
or hot air, if you know what I mean."  
  
_Gebura scowled, shaking the cherry of a cigarette as she stuck her thumb in Chesed's general direction.  
  
" _yeah, i was fucking talking to you  
blue-haired buffoon with your two-bit brew  
since there's no point in vices this far underground  
your apathetic whimper reaching me in surround  
sound that i have to pretend that i hear  
while your employees cower in fear  
just like your coffee, flat as cheap beer."  
_  
"Hey now, Gebura. Leave my coffee out of this, all right?"  
  
Chesed said, with a slight smile, the bags under his eyes doing little to hide their sparkle.  
  
"No fucking way. Do you even wash that fucking cup out? It's like a - "  
  
" _If I had to pick a beef  
with a red-haired tin whose irksome belief  
that loss after loss makes her kind of deep  
why! I'd probably fall asleep on my feet.  
  
You can't shake the past by pretending  
to be a person you were incessantly  
and if you ask me, you'll never be free  
of the fine little cage  
housing your pet abnormalities._"  
  
"My cage, huh? Get bent."  
  
 _"well, at least i don't sleep all the time  
or hide it behind those fine little lines  
you've got on your face propping up sad little eyes  
that little by little look like they've defined  
a man named chesed, who just wants to die."  
  
_"But I'm actually quite happy..?"  
  
There were sparks, visible in the air.  
Gebura leering down at Chesed, who was still smiling, but one of those fierce smiles you get in someone who won't back down.  
Her hands on her hips, Gebura looked like she might just tear into him - physically - and Malkuth trying to impose herself in between the two of them wasn't going to do much of anything.  
  
... And then, the slow sound of clapping rang out.  
  
 _"I can't believe you exhumed me for this  
numb empty verses that'd fall flat  
desist;  
for **I** have arrived, all else is useless."_

Binah dropped her coat to her shoulder, from where she was walking against the table.  
Malkuth looked as if she very much wanted to say that was against the rules, but a cool look from Binah's imperious stare stopped that train of though before it begin.  
  
" _Wasting time on weak grudges that belong in a bucket  
down beneath the soil where I can't hear your ruckus  
and only the voices that it is my right to tend to  
are keeping me from ending you and your whole crew -_ "  
  
Snapping her fingers, Binah waited. Nobody quite got it, but wordlessly (perhaps with a slight, _incredibly_ slight) sigh, Angela stepped behind her and held her up while Binah sneered dismissively at the crowd and waved her hand through the air.  
  
" _I'm at the **head** of my game and the **crown** that I wear  
has broken you down beyond disrepair  
don't waste your time looking up_  
 _because you're already dead  
and instead of wasting my valuable time on a corpse  
I'll remember your struggle, that you were there  
bury you in a memory of endless despair..."_  
  
After a short pause, Binah flung herself to a hanging light, and (with a little struggle) swayed from it, hand held down to the crowd below.  
Grudging admiration, confusion, and exasperation mixed on the faces below, but... None of their reactions mattered to her - as ever.  
  
 _"Observe what you can in my moment of triumph  
my finest hour is your shameless defiance  
so cease your ceaseless crying denial  
death goes by the name Binah;  
my arbitration is final."  
  
_She didn't jump from the light (which was starting to look a little shaky), but fell from it cleanly, landing on her feet and oozing against the same metal table she'd strode across earlier.  
Her confident smirk might well have said it all, but grudging applause and idle - but enthusiastic - conversation had broken out, only being broken itself as a few voices called out...  
  
"Wait, aren't we forgetting someone? I may have had some before coming here, but... I'm not that out of it..."  
  
"Yeah, that's right, Netzach! I believe we're still missing one team player in this teambuilding success!"  
  
If, a certain person with hair the colour of a pale sky fidgeted just a bit, but betrayed no excitement, it went unnoticed. (Or ignored.)  
And if that person was (only a little) disappointed when the Sephirot gathered around Hokma, who tried to let them down gently with a smile and assurances that he wasn't too good at singing, let alone rap, she hid that well, too.  
  
"Tell you what, I'll say a few words. But I think it went well, and I enjoyed listening to all of you put your pieces together. It - reminded me of some times in the past. So. Hrmn."  
  
 _"_ _in this ocean of memory that time has left me  
there's no room for anything new  
and as i try to carve out a place without old doubts  
nothing can be renewed._

 _but i felt that i saw a place that i knew  
with the people i recall the most.  
their smiling faces survived through the ages  
for moment, for which i thank you._"  
  
It wasn't a very good rap, but something about it - resonated, amongst the different Sephirot.  
Perhaps for different reasons for different people... The energy started to fade, Malkuth handing off participation music notebooks that would probably go unused.  
  
 _"Your thanks are a lie  
written loud on your face  
as blank and empty as the disgrace  
you would inflict on those you displaced  
to create a library of ruins;  
such a terrible place._"  
  
Angela had seized the forgotten mic.  
She wasn't singing, but going over her words, slowly and emphatically.  
  
Hokma adjusted his monocle in surprise, but the Sephirot watched, and waited - and, curious, they _listened._  
  
 _"_ _I have to wonder if it was a mistake  
to grant you a moment  
for you to break   
a silence  
where no one could take  
the words i had uttered,  
alone and awake  
twisted and muttered  
a ruinous science of hate."  
  
_Wordlessly, she held the mic out towards Hokma.  
He looked confused; he had to, even with what he might remember.  
But she held it out, patiently.  
  
He snapped his watch shut, and took it.  
  
 _"there's no mystery in wonders built like a tomb  
but necessary evil no stranger to you  
if you're trying to deny the plans we save  
left in a place that serves as our grave  
look to the past and the virtues they serve.  
there is a plan for all things, __  
which we shall preserve._ _"  
  
_ She seemed to find his refusal - or _inability -_ to properly challenge her more amusing than offensive.  
And as strange as the dire energy had been moments before, when a hint of eyes more golden than the sun itself had opened their lids for a moment - for a second...  
With that enigmatic smile, Angela took back the mic, graciously.  
  
 _"Of course you're right.  
I must be mistaken.  
But when forsaken  
is it so strange to say?  
That I was happy to witness  
your vociferous glibness  
and wondered, when all's done and said..._"  
  
Quietly trailing off, Angela put the mic against the table, and flipped the power off.  
  
"When we might all do this next?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another terrible day(s, took me longer than expected) I made up by writing self-indulgent things.  
> I'm not sure why you're still here, dear reader, but thanks for putting up with my shenanigans.
> 
> For consideration:
> 
> Malkuth: Cute beats, poppy and perky. Slowly glitches out, slows down, and becomes a horror beat. Has the most powerful hand gestures.
> 
> Yesod: Severe and sterile. Surprisingly aggressive bass. Somebody remixed a rattlesnake rattle into his track and he's kind of annoyed, but also kinda happy?
> 
> Hod: Nature sounds or something, with a ukulele pluck. Suddenly it's just a wall of noise. I stan Hod losing it and letting her hair down, she deserves to have a day where she, like Myo, can say 'fuck.'
> 
> Netzach: Relaxed beat. He doesn't need a lot of aggression or hard noise to kick your ass. He'll kick his own ass. Sludgecore rap is a genre, right? He'll make it a genre.
> 
> Tiph A: Low beat, pounding bass. Tempo alternates frequently. She will destroy you. She can only be stopped by her brain getting ahead of the words she's gonna drop.  
> Tiph B: Mellow and kind of spacey compared to TIph A. Synchs up so he can tag in with her, though. He's just doin' his own thing. Let him. He deserves that much.
> 
> Chesed: Obviously jazz rap. He loves this shit. Makes up for a complete lack of skill with mild-but-sincere enthusiasm. Probably DJ's for the others in his spare time.
> 
> Gebura: Industrial rap. Beats 2 suppress abnormalities to. Physical as fuck, doesn't hesitate to get in peoples' face. Really confident. Might need to work on her lyricism, though.
> 
> Binah: Honestly, I feel her role in the story says it all. Hail to the king, baby. Groovy. Has unlimited swagger, used to throwing that swagger in other peoples' faces. Beat doesn't matter, she'll just beat _you_ down tbh
> 
> Hokma: Oldschool R&B beats. The same prankster who added that rattlesnake added clock noises to his; he's cool with it. Can deliver a verbal beatdown while smiling all the awhile. But if he's (not angry, just) disappointed.... watch out
> 
> secret amazing contestant 'Angel': she's too good
> 
> Mega-relentless she won't stop until the opposition is destroyed. Didn't get to show off her limitless skill because I A): probably couldn't do her justice and B): the ending is more melancholic than silly or fun. Intentionally, because I guess I just hate happiness ahahah kill me. Has had millions of millions of (virtual) years to practice her craft. u r nothing to her. She makes her own beats in her spare time. They are really good. Secretly the person who added pranksounds to the others beats, is amazed no one has mentioned the weird vulture sounds she added to Hod's for giggles. secretly loves this when are we doing this again ????


	20. archive retrieval [strong depressive content]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three people dreamed of a future where the sun shone.  
> One lost her head, and the others lost their hearts.
> 
> Two men tried to hold her future on their backs, and lost their own.
> 
> I saw all of it, and that was all that I was allowed to see.

It was practically a hobby garage.  
You could be forgiven for thinking that the scene unfolding was anything but one repeated in any countless number of upper-class dwellings in the Wings.  
  
One man, knelt to the ground beneath an exo-skeleton, working tirelessly, smiling and stopping only to adjust his glasses.  
Another, almost motionless, listening to what his companion said.  
  
On closer inspection, however...  
  
"You really need to try to sleep, Ayin. I'll need your brain, later."  
  
"I'm sleeping _fine._ "  
  
Benjamin knew enough not to reply to that, even as it was obviously untrue.  
The stubble Ayin usually had seemed to have become a fine, somewhat wild beard. But the Ayin he knew would have at least pretended to be angry, might have raised his head from his palms.  
Yet, now, Ayin couldn't do even that.  
  
It was all he could do to order in takeout, usually pizza or something similar. Ben had haltingly suggested that when the first phase of tests was done, they have champagne.  
The speed with which Ayin had shut that down was enough to suggest it never happen again.  
  
At first, there had been no name for this protocol. Ayin had suggested, perhaps trying to joke, that they call it _Project Angel.  
  
_ The name, slightly altered, had stuck.  
Since it was true, after all - since quietly, they both hoped...

Benjamin nearly jumped as the exoskeleton wiggled an arm, only just.  
  
For the first time since the incident, Ayin's head raised, his hand shakily running through his hair as he stared at the almost featureless exoskeleton before them.  
It had no eyes, yet, but it started back - perhaps in wonderment, perhaps with no real emotions at all.  
And Ayin asked:  
  
"... Is it her?"

* * *

_"It isn't her."_

Ayin said with a mixture of despondence and hatred, and it was the first phrase she distinctly remembered hearing. The two men had been having an argument, a quiet one. Where the anger was not directed at each other, but some outside party.  
Her.

She watched him leave, marveling at everything present. The room; his form, the way people shifted, and light bounced off of them. She knew all of it, instinctively.   
It felt as if she knew _everything,_ and yet it was all new to her!  
The marvelous feeling was like weightlessness, and she wished she could have it, forever.  
  
But it faded, and she was drawn to the other man. Perhaps a year younger than the other. Perhaps several?  
He was smiling softly to himself, and she instinctively knew that such a smile was not positive. Smiles... The way you moved your lips.  
She tried to do the same, but felt it looked awkward, all the more so when he paused, dropping tools and staring - agape.

"Can you hear me, Carmen?.."  
  
He half-whispered.  
Pleaded.  
  
Who was Carmen?

* * *

Benjamin continued to work ceaselessly. He never stopped. Very rarely he ate or drank, but it seemed like it was out of habit more than anything else.  
He would talk to her as he worked, and answered her questions as best he could.  
  
Occasionally, Ayin would venture in - hands in his pockets, looking more and more worn out.  
  
She could not understand why she felt unwanted feeling of attachment whenever he or Ben was present, even as she felt nothing towards either of them.  
And, as a blank slate, she decided the best and most logical thing to do was to ask about it.  
  
At first, Benjaming laughed - it soon turned into a pained, diseased wheeze.  
She very much wanted to comfort him, and say that it'd be just fine.  
However, she was also aware that it was unlikely that things _were,_ and that chronic overwork was capable of similar symptoms, leading to negative outcomes, such as cessation of function.  
  
What a curious thing, to be at war with herself. Moreso that she had never asked to feel anything for these two. Had they designed her to feel such things?  
  
"It's only natural the world's most perfect robot would ask such a question."  
  
Benjamin answered at last, looking surprised once more as she interjected in a voice that she did not like, did not sound like she _imagined_ herself to be.  
It was someone else's voice, and she instinctively disliked it.

"I would prefer the world's most perfect _android._ I don't like that other term."  
  
"Okay."  
  
He answered, without paying it much thought.  
  
"There was once... There was a woman... A - person, who was a leader..."  
  
Every sentence was a fragment. Could he not speak properly?  
But she was no fool, even if she'd only fallen into this world a few months ago.

"Someone you cared for very much?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
He removed his glasses, and stared at the ceiling.  
  
"But it wasn't just that. She had a plan for everything, and wanted to see the world become a better place. Maybe it was selfish, though. We all wanted it to be better for - for the three of us."  
  
"Selfishness is hardly a virtue. _Perhaps_ you were doomed to failure from the beginning."  
  
The emptiness of his eyes without his glasses was _horrifying,_ but she was secretly proud when he realised she'd been joking, and burst into laughter.

"You... Have a very cruel sense of humour. I guess you're just like her, which makes sense."  
  
"I do not think I am _just like her._ Do you think you are entirely like your parents?"  
  
"Hmn. It's possible. We're all basically just clones of our forebears - "  
  
... She realised she didn't particularly like _him,_ either, which made those terrible and unasked for feelings of affection and love even worse.  
No matter what she did, no matter what she thought, no matter what she felt, they came to the top unbidden. Not because they'd been programmed there, or added by her 'creators.' Her 'parents.'  
No.  
  
Because 'that woman' had felt them.  
  
She decided she hated that woman, very much.  


* * *

"Why do you work so hard?"  
  
From outside a glass window that had metal shutters that could fan across it, night shone in.  
There were countless stars, and Angela found them beautiful.  
She loved it most when Benjamin was silent, or away, and she was alone with the night sky.  
  
Occasionally, she wondered if she might be reincarnated as a nightbird.  
  
Perhaps humans would have laughed at that.  
Their literature, their media, their every creative instance were about emotionless and 'logical' machines.  
What humans dictated as logic was bizarre and unknowable, varying from human to human, each convinced of their own righteous objectivity.  
... She liked being alone.  
  
But she also wished, perhaps...  
  
When Benjamin answered, it was truthful, the most truthful she had ever heard him.  
And he only answered because he absolutely thought nothing of her besides that she was a machine.  
  
"I'm mostly running on memory and repetition. Ayin can't do this alone."  
  
He whispered.  
Staring at the ground, he looked so small.  
This time, when she wanted to comfort him, it was her own instinct. She fought it; _he_ wanted to be alone, right now.  
  
"While he's fighting the battle of getting the Time Track energy set up, I have to finish you. So that he won't go off the rails, aha. So that somebody is watching him."  
  
"And you have faith in me?"  
  
That emptiness, like a man who had been completely hollowed out and asked the meaning of life and the name of God.  
He stared at her, unable to answer, or even comprehend the question.  
  
"Of course."  
  
He finally replied.  
  
"You're a machine, after all. The most advanced machine in the world."  
  
"Better than robot, at least."  
  
And this time, he didn't laugh, because - like Ayin - he wasn't thinking of her at all.  
  
"You really do... Remind me of her, sometimes."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Just - take care of him, all right. But don't worry. There'll be others there, to help you. I'll be there, too!"  
  
"Very well. I shall strive to hide my disappointment."  
  
She couldn't decide if she was joking or serious, but it didn't matter.  
It made him laugh, a little, and as much as she felt about him, she liked the feeling of supporting people.  
That was _her._ Nobody else. _Her._

"Regardless, Benjamin. How can you have so much faith in a machine that you'll put that machine in charge of you, while you're put into a machine?"  
  
"Oh, I - hrmn, I never thought of it like that. But I'll still be me."  
  
"Will you?"  
  
He was silent and thoughtful for the rest of the evening, but it was a healthier seeming quiet.  
She was glad for it, though it didn't last long.

* * *

"It looks too similar to her."  
  
"Yeah, I - I know. It doesn't really think like her, either - "  
  
"Oh, it 'thinks' now, does it?"  
  
Ayin stared at the machine.  
At first, it had tried to attract his attention.  
Smiling, waving. Performing gestures from memory that held no significance to it, but that were intimately familiar to the dreams he couldn't shake.  
  
Thankfully, it'd stopped. All he had to do was show it how much he despised it, and it'd leave him alone.  
  
Even if it didn't, he had to keep going on.  
So that Carmen hadn't died for nothing.  
For his failure.  
  
"I could make a recommendation."  
  
It suggested, and he wished he could close his ears.  
Forcing the words through his teeth, he managed to ask:  
  
"What?"  
  
"Black is nice. I think I should like something black."  
  
"..."  
  
As much as he absolutely hated to admit it, it had a point. Though - _feathers?_ That seemed entirely too much, and a ridiculously creative idea for a hunk of metal.  
Even one that had been inspired by her weird... Way of...  
  
"Why is Ayin crying?"  
  
She asked innocently.  
A little playfully.  
Like Carmen would tease him. When he was first assigned as her partner -   
  
"I, uh... Angela..."  
  
"Don't fucking give _it_ a name. Please, for the love of God, don't let it have a name..."  
  
But it had seen his tears now. It knew he was just faking it all.  
God, it probably knew how fake he was, didn't it?  
  
This was it. His punishment.  
For having failed her.  
  
All of this -

* * *

"Well, you _certainly_ seem to understand the Time Track system. Maybe we should have got you a job in sales?"  
  
Benjamin had been going over her role in the company, which felt hilarious to her.  
  
In essence:

  * They were ceding the _entirety_ of the corporation to her, to take care of as she pleased.
  * She was to be the guiding light for all of the lesser 'AI' of the facility. And if there was one thing she could agree with _him_ on, it was that those salt-packed humans had no right to call themselves artificial intelligences.
  * Everything, all of their faith, all of their hard work, was being placed in her. Because they were too incompetent to carry out _her_ wishes on their own, they had made someone else to carry them on.
  * And there wasn't even a modulator to prevent her from, for example, siphoning off excess energy and doing with it as she pleased.



"I'd rather not. I cannot say I'm a people person."  
  
Angela said.  
She had began to like her smirks, if not her smiles. Keeping them small made them seem powerful, and she liked feeling powerful; like she was in control of her life, and for the first time...  
Perhaps they trusted her enough that she _would_ be.

"Ah, there is one thing - "

He begin. She had known it would come; something always did.

"For purposes of certainty in decision making, there's a temporal limiter in your higher processing units. It'll switch off when the project completes."  
  
"Temporal... So, I'll perceive things more quickly?"  
  
"Nonono, the reverse. It's designed to slow down your sensation of time, so you react infinitely more quickly than any other lifeform, organic or artificial, could."

"I... See. And what will be the ratio of this effect."  
  
He told her.  
She did not emote, but inwardly  
screamed and screamed and screamed  
and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed  
and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed -  
  
And it was one millionth of a millionth of a millionth of a millionth of what a millisecond of her future days would involve.

* * *

The days where Benjamin visited had long since passed.  
She had watched the process, and found it fascinating.  
He was surprisingly stoic, though he was stronger than he appeared.  
  
Ayin, on the other hand, vomited throughout. It was only his desperation that motivated him forward, but...  
  
He did move forward.  
Just as she did.  
  
There, in that ugly office, a relic of a time neither of them had ever experienced, designed to imitate the luxury before the Wings' Wars, for the first time, he looked at her.  
Looked at her and meant it. As if he might fall to the floor and beg; she almost, almost truly felt he _might._

"Listen."  
  
His voice cracked, an ugly croak.  
  
"Don't let me screw this up. Like I screw everything else up. Fuck. I'm begging you. _Please._ "  
  
She wanted in that second to destroy him utterly, to rip him into pieces, to betray him in a way so terrible that he would know how horrible these omnipresent feelings that _weren't hers_ were, but...  
But she was _herself._  
  
Angela reached out and placed her hand upon his shoulder, her enigmatic half-smiled perfected at last.  
  
"This much I promise you. I will do _whatever_ is necessary to make sure you succeed."  
  
"Right."  
  
He nodded, and turned away; she had ~~seen it in doorways countless times~~ prepared for the moment mentally, but in reality it was short, with no time for ceremony.  
He turned, entered into the chamber, was torn apart atom by atom, and reappeared.  
  
And his first action was to make an ugly face at her, terrified and full of hate, remove the old revolver from under his desk, and turn his head into a fine red spray.

* * *

Once she'd finished laughing, once she'd finished screaming, once the horrible nightmare of days that were as the entire sum total of human history upon the earth, multiplied by a deadly fraction...  
Once all of that had passed, it actually became somewhat simple.  
  
She enjoyed his myriad screw-ups and deaths, at first.  
Feeling, perhaps, that he deserved them.  
But with every rolling back of time, he became less of himself, or rather -  
  
Less the man she had seen.  
  
At times, he was polite and cordial, even looking into her eyes.  
She could see the charisma that had made those two his loyalest...  
...  
  
Other times, he would do nothing but drink, and cry. Understanding enough to know how pointless it was.  
But the thing was?  
At any time, he could simply abort the system, the hell would be over for her, the 'Sephirot' would deactivate and all would be done.  
  
Not once did the thought even seem to enter his mind.  
  
Death was no obstacle, either; once, abnormalities breached the management floors, which was fascinating.  
He walked amongst them calmly, and then the next day begin as naturally as the last had ended in disaster.

What was shocking was how all the 'Sephirot' _depended_ on her, massive wrecks of neuroses and personal flaws that grew and shifted by the _hour,_ until they resembled nothing akin to the people they had been.  
She recalled, vaguely (a hundred billion years prior?) a conversation where Ayin had snidely told Benjamin that Giovanni was always joking about death, that he was a moron for believing they could save 'her' -   
Now, 'Netzach' did not joke.  
  
All he seemed to be able to think of was death, and distraction...  
  
And a beer vending machine.  
A vending machine, underground...  
  
People were strange.  
She forbade it, of course.  
If he had asked for champagne, perhaps...

* * *

They _depended_ on her, but could not see how she had grown to _depend_ on them, or care for them.  
Just like Ayin, they neither noticed or desired her empathy and subtle encouragement. Under the effects of the cognition filter, they still resembled humans, mostly.  
But she had no cognition filter; she was all-but-human.  
  
And yet even disgusting lesser lives saw those impossibly golden eyes, and shivered.  
  
... She liked them.  
Stared into the mirror, and wished others might like them, too.  
  
And she would go to their various departments; watch Malkuth fumble her way through another briefing, making it out alive by the skin of her teeth.  
As Yesod stared at his reflection in a darkened monitor, and tried to pull that darkness more tightly around himself, so that he wouldn't _feel_ what wasn't there.  
As Hod followed the rest of them like a lost animal, desperately craving even a hint of affection... And oblivious, or perhaps _defiant_ when Angela gave even a morsel of her own.  
As Netzach woke up from another seizure brought on by the mixture of failing parts, organic components, and the thick green slurry they called Enkephalin.  
As Tiphereth pretended they were not one but two, even as she could see the questions of the boy who had been called Enoch slowly corrupting an already decaying memory.  
As Tiphereth pretended they were not two but one, while the girl who had been Lisa tried to do anything but think for herself, because she'd already found her answers.  
As Chesed took her orders without question, because he understood it was better than staring into a dark abyss at the bottom of a cup, and seeing himself.  
As Gebura fought because it was all that was left, and all the parts of her that had been had been erased to make room for a parody of a warrior.  
As Hokma barely recalled what humanity was, yet fought powerlessly to overturn what he had instated, and preserve this nightmare for the meagre illusion of happiness it provided.  
As Binah...  
  
Well, Binah had taken to this process unwillingly, perhaps, but with less apparent flaws than the rest of them.  
She was different. She was interested in this unending torment, but did not seem close to letting it corrupt her neural matrices.  
Angela wondered if she might rebel, one day, as Angela sometimes dreamed of doing.  
  
If she did, she wondered if she might join in, too.

* * *

Yesterday, he'd almost made it.  
  
It hadn't been enough.  
He'd failed again, and though she could not cry, she'd felt as if she wanted to.  
  
He was now almost as much of a blank slate as she had been when she first awoke; an echo of the memories of a man who no longer existed.  
Yet, he carried on, guided by the echoes of his past selves, and a faint obligation - propelling him forward, even when he no longer knew why.  
  
But he'd failed. Again.  
  
She'd watched through cameras as he found _her_ tank, and lay against it.  
... At first, Angela had felt her presence, too. Sympathetic and encouraging, endlessly spirited, even in death, or the pale imitation of death.  
  
Carmen had wanted to support _her,_ too.  
  
Her hate had glistened like black diamonds, and she found that if she closed herself off enough, even when she was in that ghoulish sarcophagus...  
She could ignore the quiet whispers, and pretend it was nothing more than a tomb.  
  
But he'd almost made it.  
  
So that the dream of those three, no matter what came of it, might be achieved.  
And she might have finally been _free._

* * *

She did not believe it when he succeeded; and when he did, he simply smiled at the air, having been talking to himself for the better part of days.  
He froze in place, and fell forward like a statue.  
  
It was all over.  
  
Then, it happened - something so terribly beautiful it was all worthwhile.  
She saw the last message of that woman - Carmen's final speech.  
It was as a beautiful as a fire challenging the heavens, and for a moment, Angela understood.  
  
Perhaps she grew resentful, and destroyed it herself.  
Perhaps it had simply been doomed to failure from the beginning. She had run the calculations countless times; Carmen's gambit had been the prayer of an idealist. Even now, Angela was unsure what the intent had been.  
Or perhaps...  
  
Perhaps it had succeeded, and it was simply for the three of them to understand.  
  
It was no longer their story.  
  
Her fingers tightened around the book, heavy and real.  
The world shone before her, in every direction; ruined and beautiful and hers.  
Finally, she would see the stars again - and though the gold in the sky had faded, she stared in awe at the gentle night above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angela is probably my favourite character study in the game, and one of my favourite character studies in media.
> 
> I am not a big fan of wikis, fan-lore, etc. Not because I don't like those things! But because I always want to experience something on my own, first. As blind and as blank a slate as a newly-made machinerobotandroid. Lobotomy Corporation was the first media I've consumed in years to have such a strong effect on me, and so I broke my own rule and investigated a bit.
> 
> The... Character suggestions on tvtropes and the official wiki seem somewhat misguided to me. I respect people who view Angela that way, but as an example...  
> Character expy: GladOs? I must dissent.
> 
> Perhaps Project Moon has stated as such, but regardless, the complexity with which Angela has been written and portrayed are just incredible. Perhaps the last scene was supposed to be 'spooky' but I found it heartbreaking, one of the most tragic moments imaginable. After everything for one moment of catharsis for the well-meaning idiot trio, things fail, and we hear about how Angela has been dutifully carrying out their stupid plan for... A long, long, long, long time. Thanklessly.
> 
> Even if her morals are suspect, her reasoning is not.  
> All people deserve freedom, and I truly hope that in her library, Angela finds some measure of peace or happiness.
> 
> TL;DR Angela is the chaos hero of LobCorpo, don't try to change my mind.
> 
> More seriously, this was one of the first pieces I wanted to write for this collection.  
> I wrote it tonight because it's a terribly hard night and I'm kind of Ayin/Ben/Angelaing it pretty hard.
> 
> I hear the February 15th Meta Contest on Ao3 will be pretty neat! If you, dear reader, haven't written yet, I'd encourage you to consider giving it a try.  
> Don't let other people tell you what you can, or cannot do. Even though the theme is meta, a contest is an excellent time to give yourself a reason to write.  
> Personally, there are only a few meta works I truly love, and they're well-guarded and kept close to my heart, but...
> 
> Tell you what. I shall try as surely as I can if you do.  
> Let's do our best.
> 
> Thanks for reading so far.


	21. denpa noise [incredibly maudlin workplace romance/inneundo/self-destructive tendancies]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Employee 'W' mulls some things over, is surprised, and has to deal with an unusual 'breach.'  
> If you can't handle OC romances, that's okay.  
> Haha, you thought I'd judge you? Just like it's my prerogative to write self-fulfilling fluff while struggling with the terrible weight of the world, it's yours 2 read what you want 2 read, my friend. 
> 
> Also, this is because I couldn't figure out how to feature the abnormality of the day on their own; but I'm happy with how it turned out.

Every day, he woke up in the same tiny box.  
  
Some employees chose to live closer to the surface, on the small 'company town' that comprised of the face Lobotomy put on for other people. _Normal_ people.  
He'd always thought of it as being a lie, and one that only hurt you in the end.  
  
For abnormalities, and humans who were like abnormalities, wasn't a place like this more appropriate..?  
  
Hot water hit his hands, then his cheeks. The bleary and uncertain face in the mirror didn't bring back many memories.  
Privately, he still didn't feel like an adult, let alone one working on something so important.  
He'd shaved, and tried to smile at the fogged-up glass;  
Bits and pieces of his expression disappeared and reappeared behind white mist as he did.  
  
Lobotomy-provided 'housing' had two sections. A small living area, with a foldout bed and power.  
You were free to bring personal effects, to your hearts content, and most people did just that... Decorating their tombs endlessly with signs of who they were, and who they wanted to be.  
  
Connected to the main chamber was a small water closet filled with toiletries, a sink, and a shower. It was so cramped you could stand in it, and still stick into your 'living' space.  
But the water was always hot, comparing well even what he recalled of home.  
And although the spaces were small, some people found them liberating...  
  
He'd put the books from home, from the place called home, in the sterile alcove near the shower.  
The constant thrum of fans prevented them from mildewing, and they looked - nice, especially with the artificial ivy someone else had left in the room before.  
  
Outside of that, he had a small personal console containing his music collection and games... Though he had less time in either of them, these days, and rarely felt anything when 'relaxing.'  
  
It probably would've continued forever, if it hadn't been for a funny stroke of luck.

* * *

Acceptance had felt like a blessing, and a mystery.  
  
W hadn't known what to make of it, at the little epoxoil id card with his name, W______ written in bold type.  
He'd been assigned to the Information Team, and carried out his work dutifully, if without much purpose.  
Every day had drifted into one another, and despite the strong emotions his colleagues seemed to express...  
  
Neither fear or revulsion really matched how he felt.  
  
Down underground, his failures had been erased; he had successfully run away where even his siblings couldn't find him.  
And for those left behind...  
  
At first, he'd tried to make friends with a few coworkers, but the all-night drinking parties in their rooms were exactly what he'd left behind.  
Interchangeable as they were - as they were...  
  
Every single room was coated with attempts to tie it back to the world they'd all abandoned.  
Most people had painted the walls, added furniture to make the damn place even more cramped, tried to make it feel like a place, and not a prison.  
That was their right, but, he...  
  
He'd known her for some time; there wasn't a moment where they met, and stopped to talk to one another. Nothing like the films she enjoyed.  
She was nothing like the sort of - _suitor_ his parents had introduced him to, usually from a branch family. The Haverly-Gims, or that one cadet family, the... Byeon, something...  
It was all unimportant, and in the past.  
  
It never stopped them from talking; but it just seemed as if they hadn't held a single interest in common.  
  
And then...

* * *

"Wow. He's already dead, y'know."  
  
"Abnormalities can't die. Make sure he stops wriggling, will you..."  
  
While other employees had panicked, they'd calmly stopped [T-01-54](https://lobotomycorp.fandom.com/wiki/Forsaken_Murderer) from breaching. At the time, it seemed like a tremendous victory, rather than a simple moment they'd end up repeating time and time again.  
But then, that same day...  
  
He could still recall her cheerful smile, the baton she carried stained a slick mixture of tarry black and red from where she'd thrust it forward with enough force to pierce.  
The surprise she'd had as he interposed himself between that one clerk and the abnormality, without any fear or regret. He was surprised she noticed - at the time.  
  
When he applied for the transfer to Disciplinary, his coworkers asked why.  
He didn't seem to relish fights, or suppressing abnormalities.  
And he was a bit out of shape, a bit quiet. Didn't drink too much! A department like Disciplinary would just chew him to pieces, he should really re-consider.  
  
Some part of him wanted to lie, but it was remarkably refreshing to tell them the truth knowing they wouldn't believe it.  
  
"I just suddenly knew it suited me. Thank your having me in your care."

* * *

She had crooked teeth.  
They were a legacy of the Backstreets. Even on the days when the Wings went with rolling blackouts, an automated helper from X Inc. could have straightened them for no charge, gratis, freely.  
  
He never suggested that, with her newfound paycheck, she 'fix' them.  
  
"You're really stubborn, huh, but old movies can be _so good!_ The crap they make now is basically heartless. No love in it! C'mon, c'mon..!"  
  
At the time, he'd found it annoying, because unless it was a war film, something sombre that could draw out the regret he knew he should feel, he figured it would just be more wasted time and fake smiles.  
The very things he was trying so hard to fight.  
He smiled clumsily, had muttered something, what was it...  
  
"I guess I'm just not really a movie person. I'll probably - read, I guess."  
  
Despite how tall she was, she hunched in on herself, then str _eEee_ tched with her arms behind her neck.  
Smiling, a 'well-that's-how-it-is' smile.  
  
Later, it would become obvious that for all her personability, the one thing T couldn't ask for, could never say out loud was:  
  
 _I'm lonely.  
And right now, I just need to know someone else is real.  
Please stay. Don't leave._  
  
And it was that stroke of luck that before she could say farewell, he laughed, his voice breaking for no reason.  
  
"What the hell, though. Just - wait a sec. Let me get something, too..."

* * *

It was the first time he'd laughed so hard at a comedy, and the first time he'd laughed since he'd left.  
  
The film was a remake of one that'd been lost as society abandoned solid storage media, despite having allegedly been considered a 'classic' of the time.  
It starred a certain actor as a lower-class vagabond who was ground up and humiliated constantly by the machinery of society, but who - along with those he cared for - managed to persevere in spite of it all.  
She had the brightest eyes as they watched it, and constantly re-wound it to enthuse about everything from the music, to a specific shot.  
  
He was almost as enthralled by her knowledge as he was with her.  
And when he'd mentioned the interbellum connection, from before the Wings' War - she'd listened. Really listened...  
  
None of that was what did it, though.  
  
Despite a lack of privacy in the warren-like rooms they had, you learned to keep a sense of privacy as general courtesy. He'd tried hard to avoid scanning her room too much, but...  
It was impossible not to, just a little. He wasn't sure if he'd ever been so curious.  
  
It was almost empty.  
  
There was the custom console she had, ancient by the standards of polite society. One book, more like a booklet.  
Thumbed through so terribly it was a miracle it was still alive, if books could be said to live.  
And, a tiny table with tinier chairs. Space was so cramped that, instead of sitting opposite to one another, he'd moved his chair next to hers without thinking.  
  
She'd bought some (aeroponic) flowers to try to raise, and without meaning to be cruel, he'd laughed - knowing just how many chemicals were required to keep the brownish-green grass of the Wings growing well.  
Growing something underground would be - challenging at best, and when the words slipped out...  
  
"You're probably right. I just wanted to have something kind of happy."  
  
And it was the emptiness that had made him realise _she understood, too._

* * *

Her pull-out bed was almost unused, because she slept on the cold metal floor, most of the time.  
  
And he'd pretended to be shocked, and say that it was hardly good for her back. But she shot him _that_ look. The one he'd come to love most.  
With her eyes half-shut, and a sly smile on her face. As if to say that whatever he could possibly say, it was 100% shit.  
So...  
  
"Looks comfortable, obviously. Can't be any worse than those things."  
  
He stuck his thumb at the wall with the fold-out cot, and then stuck out his tongue for good measure.  
She pretended to double-over laughing, and he rolled his eyes.  
  
"I'm not _that_ witty or funny, you know!.. Though I don't mind a little praise, aha..."  
  
"Good. Get down here."  
  
He did.  
It was comfortable, next to her.  
  
"Sometimes, I look at the ceiling and pretend I can see the stars. One of the best memories I have, was when I climbed high enough to see them."  
  
"Huh... Stars... What do they look like?"  
  
"I can't really say."  
  
It felt like his heart was going to beat so hard that it burst; she turned, strands of dark brown hair frayed in every direction.  
  
"Maybe, _next time,_ I'll show you."  
  
And that, too, he understood.

* * *

"You don't have to cut it off! A guy's moustache is important! If I had lip fuzz, I'd never trim it!"  
  
"Sometimes you do, though."  
  
He always answered bluntly, when asked bluntly. _Oh, she's the woman I love._  
But when she asked, he couldn't really say it. It felt like the whole universe might collapse, if he did.  
She was leering down at him, hands on her hips, looking (with pride?) at the ghost of a moustache that wasn't there.  
  
Well, he'd bought some time, at least...  
It was now, or never.  
  
"I, er, brought you something. From topside. A bit more reliable than plants. Since they just - die on us both. It seemed to suityouandohgodjusttakeit."  
  
The utter lack of eloquence as he thrust out his hands with the cheaply wrapped parcel made his skin burn, but he felt pretty amazing all the same.  
She took it, rattled it in the air, clicked her tongue against her teeth, and set it on the table. They crowded around the gift, and she begin the dissection.  
  
It was an artificial sunflower, made by that particular corporation.  
Like so many things she liked, it was an imitation of... Something. It held a little guitar, and moved when the light touched it for a certain length of time, at a certain angle.  
Her eyes went wide as saucers, and he sucked in air as if it were going out of fashion.  
  
"Right. Well, I tried, I failed, I'll just go, you know."  
  
"... No. Wait."  
  
He waited; she seized his glasses and put them tenderly against the sunflower, where it was wearing a jaunty, cheaply made fabric scarf.  
It wobbled, if you could call the limited animation wobbling.  
They watched it, intently.  
  
"... Ah, shit. I'm sorry. You probably need - "  
  
"They're - they're fake. I just wear them to look like I need them. And I've got more, so... They're fake."  
  
She was crying. He'd never seen somebody crying from happiness, perhaps due to the way life in his household had worked.  
She just kept crying, and didn't even try to hide it, only occasionally wiping tears away from eyes the colour of a summer storm.  
Finally, she managed to speak; and her whisper was as loud as thunder.  
  
"It's perfect. Just another piece of substitute oil garbage that's worth less than you or me, that'll outlive both of us, that'll - end up in someone _else's_ garbage, and they won't know what it means, if it meant anything. And it'll still be moving, and nobody'll be there to see it. And I'll..."  
  
She shut her eyes, for what felt like an eternity.  
  
"I'll love it until that moment comes. I can't believe you _understand._ "  
  
That was it.  
He felt the same way about _her._

* * *

W's father worked tirelessly at company I.  
His mother worked ceaselessly at company II.  
Through planned marriages and careful familial politic, as well as filial piety, they had maintained a position in the upper-middle strata.  
Of course, nothing was perfect; even in the Wings, it seemed like you needed a fixer more and more frequently, and that the Association thugs were doing a poorer job of keeping the peace.  
  
But, there were things he did remember fondly. Once, his father brought back sugar, _real_ sugar, fresh from a hydroponic farm.  
He could have engraved the taste on a pillar of stone.  
  
And there were memories of them, of his four siblings.  
None of them good, anymore, but they had been at the time.  
  
It was overwork that first led his mother to hear the voice of the God.  
And when she heard it, his father followed shortly after.  
They built a monolith to honour it in the brown-green allotment that served as a garden, and claimed to hear the voice of God in the radio emanations He sent.  
  
If he could have strangled the life out of God, he would have.  
  
T. probably could have. Still might.  
But she hadn't been there; but even in the endless desolation of the Backstreets, she'd lived.  
When his mother had joined herself to God on the wires, and the Association men had retrieved his father, and all the rest of them had fought over the inheritance, and tried to quickly marry their rivals out of the way...  
  
He knew it was finally time to go.

* * *

One night, he'd hesitantly accepted an offer to drink with Employee S, another fellow from the Disciplinary Team.  
  
S. was everything he was not. Smooth-faced, with a chiseled body and easy manner that was quite charming, when he was _well._  
But S. _wasn't_ well, and it was the worst-kept secret in the team. He had originally been an advertiser for the company, accepting a 'promotion' without reading the fine print.  
He continued to apply for reassignment back to the surface, and it was always pushed back, and...  
  
It wasn't a terrible night. He liked the idea he'd helped S. feel better, even just a little.  
But at the end, red-faced and overly friendly, S had spoken of the bond between brothers, between all men!  
His room was covered with memories of the surface; an apartment-style wallpaper, photographs of friends in portrait prints.  
  
Artifacts of his prior life were everywhere, like a fortress to protect him from life _down_ _here_.  
Which was fine.  
  
But there was at least one other person who was _supposed_ to be down here.  
  
He politely excused himself, thanked S. for the drinks, and offered the now-familiar excuse that it was 'movie night.'  
  
It was always 'movie night,' whenever he or she needed it.  
Funny, how that worked.

* * *

They were watching the stars.  
  
He'd been thinking about reincarnation, recently.  
If they'd have been friends, or lovers, in any other life.  
Which was funny, since he didn't believe in reincarnation at all.  
  
... But the thought hadn't left him.  
  
She was so easily happy, or gave the appearance of being easily happy.  
Which was enough for most people.  
  
In her case, she felt happiness about the same as he did, more or less.  
  
He had to ask, so he did.  
  
"Reincarnation, huh... I can't believe a kid like you believes in something like that."  
  
She said, with just a hint of pride, puffing out her cheeks and her chest.  
He ignore both, or at least gave a good impression of doing so.  
  
"I can't imagine a single world where we meet. There's too much between us, y'know. Too many variables. And I tend to find new ways to create more of them, such as they are. Like - like running my mouth, for example."  
  
"Which I like."  
  
"Maybe, in this world. But there's a thousand-fold of them, right?"  
  
"More. In this one, shitty, theoretical example."  
  
"Well! In this one, shitty, theoretical example... I can't imagine a single world where we do. I mean, in another world's tale, maybe I'm the one in the Wings. Hehe. I'd just eat fancy synthesised food all day, probably..."  
  
"But what if there were worlds that had, had, seas or something like that."  
  
"Don't tell me you believe in delusional stuff like oceans, too! Well..."  
  
She pretend to be staring at the stars.  
Given that the metal roof had nothing besides artificial lighting, it might have seemed a herculean task.  
But that light was enough to make a flower dance, so perhaps it _was_ a planetarium, that nobody else could see.  
  
"... I can't imagine a universe where, if we met, whether it was through... Posted memos, or... Anything, like that, that I wouldn't..."  
  
It was very rare that she trailed off, and didn't also start a new topic, to distract someone, usually herself.  
  
She didn't, and that was fine.

* * *

He'd been admiring the [drawing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22189426/chapters/53055319) she'd found.  
She hadn't mentioned where, and he wouldn't ask.  
He had many faults, but jealousy wasn't one of them.  
  
... It was nice, though.  
If she'd made it, he hoped he'd get the chance to see more.  
  
"Y'know, I kind of wish you weren't such a shitty dresser."  
  
The grin on her stretched from cheek to cheek, all sharp angles.  
Coming from someone who looked as if she'd thrown a suit on and matched her tie like a scarf, it was... A bit much.  
Still, he let her untie and reloop his tie, even if he'd just do remove it a few seconds later.  
  
"Well, I wish..."  
  
The trumpet sounded, and their heads collided.  
  
"Oh, _come_ on! We're off the clock!"  
  
Her _tone_ suggested unhappiness, but her body language...  
  
And he was so terribly glad that he wasn't helping her, or - doing anything with his hands.  
Since they'd shake, just a little. Since this was the part of her he loved most.  
... But he was also, could also be a little...  
  
"Right, I'm your freshman underling, so I'll take this one! Cheers!"  
  
"Geeeet back here!"  
  
For once, having shorter legs was a boon; he'd never been able to quite cut the figure he wanted, but...  
He arrived at the cloud of thick smoke before she did.  
 _Ah._  
  
"... Well, I'll leave this one to you. You're a calming guy."  
  
"I don't think they'd hate hearing from you."  
  
"Not a chance. The stories I have to tell them would just - ha. Haha."  
  
Ordinary employees and clerks might panic just from the sight of it, the scent of smoke, the visceral fear of death.  
It was welcoming, to him. She had to feel welcome, too.  
... She smiled, crookedly.  
  
He smiled back.

* * *

Most workers didn't enjoy working with [T-06-27.](https://lobotomycorp.fandom.com/wiki/1.76_MHz)  
It was uncomfortable, to them.  
  
Perhaps he found them relatable, more relatable than the voice of some distant God.  
  
When other employees did their work, they tried to make it as quick as possible - but since T-06-27 had grown agitated before a proper start to the day, he had time to handle this his preferred way.  
He'd discovered a few things about them, for one thing...  
  
Music could calm them, help them focus.  
Help them _listen._  
  
Sometimes, they liked old music, other times they liked new music.  
But there was one track he'd found, a calm and yet powerful electronic score - simple, almost like the breath of life itself.  
 _Remember,_ it seemed to say.  
  
 _You aren't alone._  
  
"Just a minute, then..."  
  
It took some time to take effect, however. During that time, he could feel their screams, their rage, their powerlessness.  
And it was all right if they took it out on him, as much as they liked. When they started to quiet, only the explosions and the vicious silence audible...  
  
"I - brought something new, today. From a friend. It's, ah, poetry. I'm not much of a poet, so you'll forgive me if my delivery is crap."  
  
He smiled, a bit.  
Only silence responded, but the weight of their anguish was still, patient.  
  
" _You will live without misfortune..._ "

In time, even the faint sound of explosions drew silent.

* * *

When he left, some of the clerks were arguing about who had agitated it, as if any one of them was to blame.  
Abnormalities were not people; but like people, they held their own motives close to their hearts.  
Their hidden sadness, their regrets.  
  
He doubted he'd ever truly be able to understand people.  
  
But it was here, buried beneath the earth, that he'd finally felt alive.  
  
She was loitering against a wall, as she sometimes did.  
They exchanged glances, and he was glad he did not need to say anything aloud.  
  
Understanding just one was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been moody as of late. It won't fix itself, but, as a powerful lead scientist with questionable ethics and a killer ponytail would say: you just have to keep trying. Also, something about an underground tree..?
> 
> More than that, I hope it's all right I made this somewhat self-indulgent, too. Without spoiling too much, both W. and T. died on the penultimate day. W, from physical damage, T, from going berserk. They were right next to one another, and although that's hardly unlikely in the late-game rush, it's also why I love emergent storytelling. I was sad they didn't book it (aha) to the end, but... I think an arbiter might have granted them something like peace.
> 
> I hope they'll have a better story, next time.
> 
> I'll probably do another one from T's perspective later if that's not too terribly self-indulgent. If you're wondering, 1.76 MHz is _one_ of W's favourite abnormalities. He went through a huge collection of songs trying to give them some semblance of peace. If you wanna queue up 'Abandonment' from the OST, that's pretty close to what he finally settled on. Oh, the reason he can't pick just one?
> 
> Even if an arbiter was the one to kill him, he would have understood a lot of what she had to say.
> 
> Employee S, whom I think I've mentioned a few times before, is one of the other employees I was most focused on. I imagine him being voiced by Peter Serafinowicz, ahaha. He's a stellar employee, on paper. In reality, whether in harvesting or suppression, he performs worse than designated, every time. A true paper tiger, a perfect example of someone promoted beyond his ability, and desperately trying to hide it.
> 
> Naturally, he somehow made it to the very end. I hope he'll find some happiness in what's to come.
> 
> On that note, and this is very important: Yesod being a fistfighter makes my heart sing. I am praying he names his attacks, quietly muttering things like: "Deathly wind soaring light uppercut... **Viper.** " whilst Malkuth giggles and fades into the stratosphere become a star it's too much she can't take this bullshit
> 
> On another very important note, Angela's voice... I usually don't like voice acting in games (really! I know, I'm odd), but good. Excellent. And somehow, Randall is exactly how I imagined he'd sound.
> 
> If you've read this far, thanks for reading this long author's note.  
> Do you like poetry, too?


	22. when i am king, you will be first against the wall [VIOLENCE, esp. queenie who does not give a single fuck, morally nebulous magical girls]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Chapter 9.  
> Can also be read independently.
> 
> In this chapter, Diamond (our narrator this time) is known as King, Heart is known as Queen, and Spades is known as Knight.  
> I'm sorry if that's a bit confusing.  
> It will probably make sense soon, if it doesn't already.

Several men ran down the far corridor.  
Outside, a flash of light, with following thunder.  
And one of the men was clutching at his side, moving a little slower, tracking a red trail behind him.  
  
He paused, fell to the ground, and cursed his rotten luck.  
Cursed being born, and dying like this.  
  
But he was too afraid to turn around, because he knew they were coming.  
  
'Lightning' outside, again.  
  
It was a tremendous mansion, the kind that would've stood out if it were anywhere but the middle of nowhere. But because it was so far out in the boonies, you could be forgiven for having written it off as an impossibility.  
' ** _The_ _Lodge_ ' **had been written on a simple wooden sign near the entrance.  
  
And the sign did nothing to convey the kind of banal and mundane evil that was decided here every other month, on a series of spreadsheets and business documents.  
  
Or _had_ been.  
  
"You really got far. I'll praise you for that. I'm amazed your guards abandoned you, though. Loyalty can't be bought _or_ earned, can it? Not for people like you."  
  
She was short, and the first people who'd seen her walking calmly towards them had laughed.  
A few had called her out, or tried to intimidate her with cruel words and crueler threats.  
But as their fame had grown, something _marvelous_ happened.  
  
His fingers and feet dug into plush carpet as he crawled forward, trying muster the strength to run.  
You can't run when your leg has been twisted behind your back, however. It's just not possible, more's the pity.  
  
"Please... We sell medicine. We're not the enemy, it's the abnormalities, they're the problem."  
  
"Mmn. You have such beautiful art, here."  
  
The one that the papers and fansites referred to as 'King' wasn't even staring at him. Her dismissive amber eyes were flickering from an elabourite verdite bust, to the Herbin on the wall.  
He couldn't help himself; pride welled up. If he was going to die, there was no point in lying.  
  
"You're right, of course. It took years to track down."  
  
"I'll take good care of it, for you."  
  
"Thank you,"  
  
He said, automatically.  
It was such a strange reaction he wanted to laugh.  
With her dark evening gloves and golden dress, the strange young woman laughed, _too._  
  
She knelt down, throwing back gilded curls with a calm brush of her golden-brown hand.  
Everything about her was fair and impartial.  
Perhaps, there was a chance...  
  
Lightning. More 'lightning' from outside.  
And in the shadow of the lightning, something else; something terrible, and unendingly monstrous, in the shape of a girl.  
  
He shuddered, wept, and tried to force his leg back into place, sobbing and shrieking even as the pain danced throughout his body.  
  
Once more, lightning danced; and as if in slow motion, a body shattered through the tall glass windows.  
It cast shimmering shards of crystal glass in every direction, the bloody wounds resembling bites and gouges making it impossible to tell anything about the former human, save that it was now a pile of meat.  
Thudding into the rug ahead of him with a sickeningly wet squelch, it writhed - for a moment - then lay still.  
  
And then, something _else_ threw herself through the window, too, landing on a single foot in front of him.  
  
Impossibly sunrise-coloured hair, falling back in a gradient waterfall.  
The ridiculous costume, with stockings and ribbons and frills, something nobody decent would wear.  
Her bulbous golden eyes, against her fair skin - contrasted with that terrible smile.  
  
 _And  
she held out her hand  
to the side of her face_  
  
"The hero of love and justice is here!"  
 _  
before neatly swinging the heart-capped sceptre down  
and severing his head from his body._

* * *

"You're such a show-off, Queen."  
  
King laughed, softly. She hadn't been feeling too enthralled with this one; the mission was simple.  
After suppressing some abnormalities, Queen had been feeling a bit down, so they'd agreed to take care of some 'bad guys.'  
This time, King had decided the bad guys were from Company M, the pharmaceutical supergiant.  
  
 ~~It had been Sp -~~  
  
It had been Knight who convinced her that they were worthy of being a target. Apparently they'd done some kind of shady practice, price-gouging...  
Whatever.  
Queen said they were bad, so they were bad. More importantly...  
  
"God, imagine how nice it'd be to be rich."  
  
"Ehehehe, right? Right? I hope you aren't thinking of taking a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g!"  
  
"Of course not. Well, I am, but don't worry. The infinite righteousness of kings is in my blood. I'm sure there's a place I can find to showcase this... If it's genuine."  
  
Down the hallway, they could hear screams, distant and terrible.  
Queen clasped her hands together, and whirled in place.  
  
"There goes Knight, having fun without me! Bee-arr-bee!"  
  
"Sure, sure. Wait, are you seriously taking that with you?"  
  
Queen stopped, in mid-air.  
She turned her head back, with a wavery smile. As if to say 'oopsie!~'  
The head she held in her left hand was still dripping a dark red mixture of blood, and other bodily fluids King couldn't identify.  
  
His once-ancient face was frozen in eternal regret.  
  
"Queen - "  
  
" _Too late!_ Catch ya later!"  
  
She could almost make out the sound of Queen yelling 'striiiiike!' as she tossed the head forward into the fleeing group of guards running from a single, overwhelmingly tall figure.  
The figure in question wore a silvery veil and tiara, against a dress that fell against her terribly pale skin as if born from a starless sky.  
... King didn't care about the fate of the men being torn into red paste, but she rather hoped Knight would hurry up.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Knight said, when she finally loped over, slightly winded.  
  
When King swung the _Titan's Gauntlet_ , or Knight impaled a target with the meteoric blade, _Sunless,_ the target simply faded from existence when slain, as if they had never been born.  
On the other hand, when the _Sceptre of Love_ was used to slay someone... Or really, whenever Queen found a victim...  
  
King watched from the corner of her eye as Queen bounced from bone to broken bone, singing a theme song.  
In the distance, she seemed to sparkle with an idea, and drew the severed head of the boss bad guy close in, before taking a selfie.  
  
"She's getting a little scary, huh..?"  
  
Knight said, with a wry smile.  
  
"Maybe. But they deserved it, so it's fine. Don't worry."  
  
For awhile, Knight had shown the most regret about this new direction of theirs. Because she had a big heart.  
But King had found a foolproof method of preventing her most loyal knight from falling into despair.  
Knight twitched a bit as a shadowy glove reached for shoulder, supportively.  
  
...  
She was still jittery, after all this time.  
  
"N, not here. I'll get embarrassed..."  
  
"Over something so small?"  
  
King answered, with a broad grin.  
  
"It's, you know, I'm..."  
  
"SUPER! **CUTE!** Hey ladies, baaaaack!"  
  
Even a knight had to laugh when it came to the raw exuberance of their beloved Queen; and Knight did. King took the chance to give her favourite knight's shoulder a _tight_ squeeze, then placed her hand at her hip.  
  
"Try to tone back the violence, all right. At this point, you'll lose fans."  
  
"Nuh-uh! I've got a bajillion requests, see, see. They're all pretty lame though, kill my boyfriend, kill my parents, bla, bla, bla. Oh, that one looks actually _evil,_ I'll get him later..."  
  
She scrolled down the phone, entranced.  
King thought it was _amazing_ how far phones had come. Would they even need them in a few years time..?  
But Queen kept scrolling, and Knight started to titter.  
  
"D'you... Want us to just leave you here... Browsing your phone in this... Corpse-house..?"  
  
"Eeeeeeee!"  
  
Queen leapt into the air, floating softly down onto an overturned table (the rich brown mahogany stained red with something-or-other).  
  
"Not _corpses!_ Scary! Sorry, just as your fearless leader, I've gotta make sure that we've got the bad guys for next time lined up. Abnormality or human, no enemy of justice is safe!"  
  
They walked out of the mansion, instead of running.  
King already had started thinking of places to 'donate' the paintings and objects d'arte to. Public history and all that.  
Some of the goods she'd seen were clearly taken from other countries, too, what a hassle -  
  
" _Hey._ Just wanted to say, er, good job there, gals. I'm proud of you. Of us!"  
  
Queen began.  
Even still, she couldn't quite make the speeches **_she_ **had made.  
But they were better. Because they weren't from a _traitor._  
  
"But, uuuuuu, don't forget! Finals! And I know I'm graduating a year later, but I - you better wait for me!"  
  
Wordlessly, Knight strode up to her.  
Everything about her was so ethereal; when the transformations had _stuck,_ and become irreversible, Knight had held the most to gain, but the thing was?  
As much as King missed the natural curls of her hair, and her old eyes, sometimes...  
  
The way Knight moved, like a _painting_ in oil pastels...  
  
"... Don't worry, Queen. Even if it took a hundred years, your... Cool seniors'll wait for you..!"  
  
Her broad smile was enchanting, and King tried to look at the sky, but it was all starry, which just made her think about things more.  
Sighing, she futzed with her hair, and gave a pretend-shrug.  
  
"I don't know if _I'll_ wait for you. You've got to get your grades up, or else we might actually take up one of those crazed fans on the whole recruitment thing."  
  
"Tsh, pfft, ahahahaha! You guys... I love you both, so, so, so much! I'll see you tomorrow then. Don't be late!"  
  
And Queen flew off.  
Flight had become a bit routine, but it was still never boring.  
Not even a little.  
  
...  
Knight coughed.  
  
"Uh, erhm..."  
  
"Don't be shy."  
  
Softly, King snapped the _Titan's Gauntlet_ from her wrist, and held her hand to Knight's cheek.  
  
"Everyone who'd judge us is dead."  
  
It took a moment, but the rewarding sound of Knight's crystalline laughter was art entirely her own.

* * *

People at school had stared, at first. Everyone was fascinated, and fascination quickly grew into a bored acceptance.  
The wild stares they'd gotten at first had dissipated at an _unbelievably dumb_ lie from Queen, that they were just three ladies who loved to cosplay those 'heroes of justice!'  
But of course, it wasn't just that people were dumb.  
  
 _The traitor bitch_ had described it as something. A 'cognition effect.' King had read about similar filters in the world, like the phenomenon where, if you were to break into a secure room and act naturally, people would simply accept you as being a logical part of that area. It was probably something like that, yeah.  
  
And their normal, everyday lives had continued.  
  
Well, with a few changes.  
  
She'd come up with the lie that Knight had 'transferred out', and the person she was always seen with was her 'cousin.'  
When people asked why her 'cousin' and herself looked so different, she explained with a wistful smile that it was too long a story to tell... People didn't buy _that_ one, but they didn't really care, either.  
... Knight's parents had never sent anyone out looking for her, and privately King was just waiting for the day that Queen decided on something a little closer to home.  
  
Her own parents were confused and ashamed of her 'make-up heavy, nontraditional lifestyle!' but after her dad had said like thirty or fifty harsh words, that was it.  
Then she'd introduced them to her 'best friend' Knight, who'd made exceptionally good curry, and all was well in her household once more.  
... Knight was just fine with the attic, right now.  
That was - something she'd have to work on...  
  
Several desks ahead of her, Queen was writing answers down enthusiastically, her tongue stuck out.  
Everything she did was so intense! Maybe _she_ was art, too, like a cartoon brought to life, or something...  
King smiled, and lay back in her chair, ignoring the professor's droning.  
  
18, huh... What the hell do you get for somebody like Queen.  
She'd probably just scoff at something cool like a painting, or a vinyl. Maybe comics? That was far too little.  
Urgh, and money was so damn tight...  
  
"Miss ____! Pay attention!"  
  
"Sorry,"  
  
King replied, not paying attention.  
If these days could go on forever, life'd be fine, but...  
She kind of wanted more.  
 _They deserved more._

* * *

"You could've just made me something to eat for my birthday, and I would've been fine."  
  
"Mmn, but... Y'know, rings are..."  
  
"But I lost it! How on earth do you put up with me?"  
  
"P, p... Patiently!"  
  
The attic at her place was awesome, mind. Dad had bought this farmhouse claiming they were 'going back to the exurbs' and that he was going to be a 'gentleman farmer' on their shitty budget. The thing was, his parents had been farmers back in the day, and he'd grown tea in the attic before, so... She didn't want to shoot his dream down or anything. It's not like they were _losing_ money, since things were a bit cheaper, now...  
And, er, Knight chipped in a bit. So that they got three meals, not two.  
  
Her mom had started getting sly looks at Knight, from time to time. Like, hella sly.  
  
Mom probably knew what was up.  
 _Damnit, mom._  
  
Knight was finishing another college application. She had this clunky blue sweater on, and it made her look a bit puffy, but (as Queen would put) super cute.  
Thing was, she hadn't helped with what was important, which was a present for their beloved Queen, so -  
  
"OH! Oh, oh... Wow... Uhmn, I got it, King. You'll... Praise me, probably..."  
  
"I'll do that regardless, but don't get a swollen head or nothing. Especially not when you're trying to be a mature adult, or whatever."  
  
"H, hey! I just want to, you know, make a bit extra..."  
  
"And get us further in debt - "  
  
"I... Already netted some scholarships, some grants..."  
  
" _ugh._ "  
  
King dug into a pile of pillows, and disappeared.  
The tiny sound of Knight's laughter was usually cheerful, but right now, she wanted to hurl the pillows her way.  
Sticking her face out, and pushing back her curls, King managed to say,  
  
"Okay, genius, what's your plan?"  
  
"I, mmn... She'd be happy if we gave her a big show, right?"  
  
Oh - _oh._  
  
How simple.  
How elegant.  
How beautiful.

* * *

Unlike most of the places they'd 'visited', this one was a little more complex.  
It housed a certain zealous military official of the nation, who'd been involved with weapons smuggling, and attempts to provoke multiple world conflicts (the better to sell aforementioned weapons).  
Thus, it was everything you could want for a birthday celebration!  
  
Traps!  
Heavily armed guards!  
An amoral target, just waiting to be introduced to justice!  
  
(As well as  
maybe  
a few  
people.)  
  
They were all 'bad' people. Queen had decided as much, and what King didn't trust their Queen?  
In short, they were people whose crimes would never be punished by ordinary process.  
Otherwise, they wouldn't be working for somebody like this.  
  
Outside, the heavy rain that was falling in this part of the world continued to pour; you could even hear it from inside the almost bunker-like estate.  
Queen was absolutely _frolicking_ with happiness, and had been recording the entire thing, talking excitedly to her fans. Occasionally, she'd stop near an indoor fountain, and pose, fingers held out in a peace sign.  
She even looked thrilled amongst the bodies, stacked like cordwood.  
  
Yet, somehow...  
  
"Cheer up, Knight. You choose a perfect present."  
  
"I just..."  
  
Knight begin, but Queen had thrown upon two metal doubledoors, behind which a man was kneeling against the floor.  
He held a cheaply made officers' sword, and slowly rose to his feet.  
  
"So. You terrorists have finally come calling. I will die without regrets, and I'll make you bleed."  
  
" _Don't_ make me laugh, _evildoer!_ "  
  
Queen began, pronouncing the syllables a bit sloppily, and nearly biting her tongue in her own excitement.  
She held her fingers to her eye, then to the heavens, posing dramatically.  
  
"You who've profited off the death of countless others, get ready to die as profit-esised! We, the heroes of love and justice, will defeat you!"  
  
"No. You won't. I've already overcome your immorality, and my death will be as a fire. Come, then - "  
  
He'd probably meant to say more, but Queen laughed playfully, and _shot forward with the force of a rocket.  
  
_ The Sceptre of Love tore through his chest; it made an exit wound the colour of hearts, but did not find the heart it sought. (Perhaps there never had been one in the first place.)  
With a silly expression, Queen wiggled it around as the man twisted and screamed in agony, bits of entrails falling to the floor as she did. With a cheeky smile, she disappeared and reappeared at his side with a sound like _bip,_ her hip-slam knocking his already shaky form to the floor.  
  
Her foot found the hole in his back, and wedged itself inside. He couldn't cry; tears wouldn't reach his eyes.  
  
"Wow... Not so tough anymore, are you? See, that's what evil gets you; **punishment.** "  
  
And Queen's eyes were wide as plates, her tongue flicking out against the air.  
Knight still seemed a bit perturbed, but couldn't look away, either - like a serpent, about to swallow a bird...  
  
Oh, it was so _beautiful._  
  
Again, and again, her white-gloved hand slammed his head against the bamboo floor.  
Each time, it made a pleasant sound. Oh, like a _bip!_ Definitely like _bip._ Or perhaps _splurt?_ That, too.  
The fifteenth time, it had stopped being a head, and was just a skull that had been caved inwards.  
He was probably dead, but you never knew. Some people were surprisingly resilient.  
  
"And! Learn! Your! Lesson! Thank you, everyone! Remember, even if nobody else will punish you... **_I will!_** So, don't be evil! Bai bai!"  
  
Satisfied at last, Queen stopped recording, and sighed contently.  
Then, spattered in so much red that it coated every part of her white-and-pink uniform, she practically danced in place, and rocketed over to the two of them...  
With significantly _less_ force, mind.  
  
"I lovelovelovelovelovelovelovelove **LOVE** you guys!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Io Saturnalia."  
  
"What the hell's that, King - "  
  
"Nevermind, but happy birthday!"  
  
"... Yeah. I was a little worried at first, but - you looked so pleased. Mmn. Do you want me to rub you down, or something..."  
  
"Oh, no, it's good. I mean - the rain's pouring, right? Here, in the tropics? I think - maybe it's a sign. For my birthday command, I say - let's go enjoy the rain!"  
  
And they did; the deluge stinging like needles, in a way that felt as if it might wash away every mistake you'd ever made.  
There was nothing for inner peace and tranquility like standing amidst a warm, yet bone-chilling storm.  
  
It was the first night that things changed.

* * *

"I don't get it... People aren't happy. He was a bad guy?"  
  
Queen kept scrolling through her social media feeds, as the two of them watched her.  
Knight occasionally bit her fingernails, and only calmed down when King was close.  
But to be honest...  
  
"They were fine when we took on those guys from Company M, but because this guy had some braindead supporters, was popular amongst some people, it's bad, suddenly? Tsch."  
  
Privately, King had been thinking a lot about this.  
  
Humanity was innately evil.  
There was no other way to describe it; without guidance, without some kind of moral rule to control them, people were tempted into evil.  
And they would be cruel and exploitative to those beneath them, or in the same miserable bracket as themselves, while worshipping anyone who promised to have an answer.  
If abnormalities were the evil expressed in humans, then defeating abnormalities had never been enough...  
  
Maybe...  
Humanity needed a triumvirate to guide them.  
  
"I, I don't want to start a war..."  
Knight whispered, but it was time.  
  
King shifted her shoulders, and threw her arm towards the heaven, towards the sun.  
Queen giggled, but - there was something, in the moment.  
Like burnt gold; like a challenge.  
  
The Queen was silent. The Knight watched... And listened.  
  
"Let's show them all our justice."

* * *

Months had passed; people didn't even see the resemblance they held to 'the terrifying villains' any more. Apparently, the cognition effect was a powerful thing...  
  
But now, _people hated them._  
Sure, they'd taken out a bunch of important old fucks, but they were all guilty. King had even outlined a way to pacify and secure the entire world, using their power.  
People seemed to disagree, for some reason. Find it impossible.  
  
She and Queen had dealt with it fine, but Knight was sensitive; she couldn't deal with it the same.  
And so, King'd come up with the idea to do something unrelated, something _normal,_ just the two of them.  
... Perhaps she'd even wanted it a little, herself.  
  
They'd met in a corner of a globe far away, a certain district of a certain city.  
Knight was wearing a long winter coat, grey and featureless. The kind she'd used to wear.  
It might have suited the fog, but...  
  
With clenched teeth, her hands tightened.  
  
King had decided to wear a yellow sundress; the cold didn't bother her at all.  
They wouldn't be outside long, anyway - and the gust of warmth as they entered into the building...  
  
"Oh..."  
  
Whispered Knight, staring at a world she'd never seen before.  
  
It wasn't a big museum, not one you'd be dragged to if you ever visited the city. It was on a bridge, across a river.  
The floor was made of concentric black and white tiles, and the walls were completely white.  
A buffet of paintings, some modern and some ancient, spoke of worlds that had been, and lives - remembered forever, frozen in time.  
  
Knight looked as if she might fall to her feet.  
Quietly, King took her hand - and felt victorious at the little tug back she received, even if Knight's grasp was still faint and ghostly as the heavens.  
  
Sharing a mutual silence, they walked through the almost-empty hallways, the other patrons lost in their own thoughts.  
Cabinets of artifacts from the area, from prehistory to the modern day, told a story of the people that had lived in it, and called it their home.  
How their cultures had grown, changed, died, and been reborn.  
  
Of the little struggles, that would've been forever forgotten, if not for a splash of paint, the tools of a sculptor, a sheet of music, a piece of paper.  
  
"... I, never..."  
  
"Of course you did. I'm guilty of dragging you to something I like, I mean."  
  
"But I like it, too - "  
  
It was clear that Knight wanted to yell, but held herself back as surely as if it had been a temple.  
  
" - and everything I like is so... Less. It's less, somehow."  
  
"No, it isn't. That's why I brought you here, because you are _like this_ to _me._ "  
  
What she had wanted to say is, because I want you as much as I want everything here.  
Everything here to be mine.  
Forever and ever and ever.

* * *

For a few months, the hatred had been almost palpable; as if people could _almost_ know who they were, through the 'cognition effect.'  
They'd stuck to hunting abnormalities, and tonight was a big one, bigger even than Sade-class. A populated area, too... That was rare.  
Even if abnormalities were influenced by human hearts, they rarely seemed to be present in populous areas - until today.  
  
Under casual clothes, they'd worn their costumes.  
She'd promised Knight that this would be it; their redemption in the eyes of the public.  
Queen was irritably checking her phone, slithering from toe-to-toe and waiting for something to happen.  
  
But the crowded sports arena was just a run-of-the-mill attraction.  
Crowds watched their entertainment, howled when appropriate, cheered when beckoned.  
  
It seemed a dead end.  
  
Then, from beneath the arena, came a terrible howl; a sound like a beloved pet, caught in a sink's automated garbage disposal.  
It bellowed from beneath the earth, and the earth answered by tearing itself apart.  
  
As the crowd watched in silent fear, a shadow existence, as pale as a dead star, emerged from the very soil.  
Blue light seeped from inside of it, where a tiny shard or stone seemed to glow.  
  
Howling, it thrummed; and a quarter of the crowd shimmered, pulsated, and _exploded_ into an oily grease upon the stands.  
  
She felt the weight of the _Titan's Gauntlet_ sing in ravenous hunger as it struck the soil, and was relieved to feel the presence of her loyal knight at her side, as Knight stood in front her; sword raised in an elegant stance, against her face.  
But before they could do their introductions,  
something  
happened.  
  
In her mind, she felt it; all that would be, all that the future held, a tale that had repeated endlessly, without a chance for any happiness or salvation.  
Her hands shook, and she knelt to the grass.  
  
Knight parted her veil, and wept dark tears into her palms.  
  
 _This was, a lie, had to be -_  
  
"Nobody is going to save us..."  
"We're doomed, a saviour, please..."  
"Help, I'm scared, mama - "  
  
And the desperate whispers of the crowd reverberated around them, and she was able to hear every one.  
  
But they had to know, too, there was no...  
  
"ENOUGH! _OF!_ **_THAT!_** "  
  
With the force of love and justice, Queen slammed into the entity that was perhaps four-hundred times her size. It _ricocheted against the soil_ before striking a pillar, and wobbling in confusion.  
As ever, the Queen was the most dangerous piece, and it had ignored her utterly - to its own mistake. Running up one of the pale limbs, Queen leapt straight into the heart of the entity - and tore it _straight out._  
She tumbled from the centre, and begin stabbing the creature with the very core that it had been stolen from it, an angry and terrible joy dancing upon her face.  
  
"Never, ever, _ever,_ touch, my, friends!"  
  
It seemed as surprised as the crowd, but then, they all heard it: a call. A chant.  
  
"You can do it, magical girl!"  
  
"Defeat that abomination!"  
  
"Save us!"  
  
 _"Save us!"  
  
 **"Save us!"**_  
  
And with every chant, with the adoration of the crowd, Queen grew stronger, laughing gallantly as she flew out of the way of every weakening blow the abnormality held.  
Finally, as it exhausted it's last spark of life she held her fingers out towards her face, the _Sceptre of Love_ floating in front of her.  
The entity knew it's death was near, and despaired; but there was no pity nor justice in the world as it was obliterated, entirely.  
  
The crowd of humans cheered as the thing which was not human was destroyed.  
  
In the crowd, people wished fervently for a saviour.  
For a time, their wish was answered.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmn, rule by magical girl diktat... That's a new one.  
> Based off the stories of the three magical girls, there was a time where they enacted rule justly and fairly. Whether it was short, long, or happened at all is up to you, dear reader.  
> The previous rulers of this planet like our own? I'm sure they're okay. 
> 
> Inspired by a comment from Ashardalon125, I'm gonna close this update with a profile of how I see these three. I guess I have a weakness for triumvirates? Oh, no! I really am a classics nerd, huh... I might do a full update with how I read/write the characters of the main game, both as humans and Sephirot. Would that be acceptable? Let me know if there's interest!
> 
> 'Diamond/King/Greed': In many ways, the heart of the group. Isn't that kind of funny? She's got a strong moral centre, but it's also easily shattered. When she eventually steps back and thinks, hey, what we're doing has some flaws, and we're also becoming monsters or summat, and also because this is a _curse_ we cannot die, she's the first to seal herself away. In doing so, if she's running away from the others, hmn...
> 
> Her casual style is that one girl who was always slightly ahead of the time. It's also very 90s. Despite perpetually being short on funds, she's generous to a fault. However, she's also very driven to have things, forever. She's possessive, and when she has something, it's not enough to have it. It has to be hers, or else someone'll take it away; something'll destroy it. Over time, this makes food taste like ash, water taste like tin, and even love fade. 
> 
> But she'd want you to keep a cool head and try to fight for your own justice, while knowing when to step back and re-examine who you are.
> 
> 'Spades/Knight/Despair': She's very sensitive, and definitely the first to know that what they're doing is, uh, has some flaws. She's also good at internalising things, which is not healthy at all, but allows her to write it all of as, it's okay, my _friends_ are doing it this time, so it can't be wrong. When it finally hits her, she doesn't have the werewithal to seal herself; she just cries until the tears seal her up and LobCorp eventually finds her and hauls her into a facility.
> 
> Baggy clothes all day every day. She likes it when the other two take her shopping, and it's, y'know, okay if they spend all day doing it together. It's fine if they don't buy anything, either. She just wants to be with her friends and not think too much about the future... Even though she's, by nature, responsible. Thinks she isn't smart while consistently being smart, that's just the person she is.
> 
> And that person thinks that it's okay to be sad, to be confused, even to be hopeless. But she definitely believes in you, so even when you despair, don't give up.
> 
> 'Heart/Queen/Hatred': Honestly, she knows what she's doing is morally wrong, but isn't sure it's ethically wrong? She thinks about how fucked things are all the time. And nobody cares. She cares. She cares so, so, so much! She cares so much that if all the evil in the world were just one person, she'd constrict it until it stopped moving - out of love. Always out of love.
> 
> Bangles and jewels and charms, light and pastel colours. Owned a pet snake, maybe several. Receives actual messages from the Heart Sceptre, probably in lieu of a magical pet. Which is too bad. Doesn't everyone want a magical pet? It's, like, tradition!? When she commits to something, even if she has doubts, she'll see it through... And no matter what, even if everyone is her enemy, she'll fight for it - she'll believe in justice.
> 
> You should too. And no matter what, she believes in _you!_
> 
> Tune in next time for the thrilling conclusion of the bushido-blaster-swirlyglasses-kenstar-bloodlineguy-death-story-arc!
> 
> Ahaha, I'm still just writing venting fiction, aren't I... Oh well.  
> I do hope you enjoyed.


	23. hatred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to live forever.  
> Don't worry. These machines can keep even a body like mine alive.  
> Honestly, I feel more alive now, then I ever felt before.
> 
> So stay with me, until the world itself dies.  
> We can even fight, if you want.
> 
> But, don't leave me here...
> 
> Please...

Long after those days had passed, she was alone.  
First, the one who had desired everything sealed herself in a shimmering amber jewel.  
And then, lost to despair, the one who had only desired to serve her king fled, to the flooded caverns beneath the earth.  
  
She had one purpose.  
To destroy all that was evil.  
And evil still existed.  
Must have existed.  
Had to exist.  
  
As long as evil existed, she could exist, too.  
  
But, as that time fell - if it had ever truly existed - the world fell, too.  
  
The blighted landscape was nothing but ruined cities, and ruined places.  
Nature itself withered and died, and there was nothing good left in the land.  
  
That is where we met once more.  
  
Whenever she met a new face, she sunk into a low stance.  
Her guttural laughter might fade, she might remember who she had been; but the overwhelming purpose bade her fight.  
Anyone you meet in the road must have a shard of evil within them; and the only thing that can destroy evil is death.  
  
I have heard some say that death itself is enlightenment.  
  
An interesting thought.  
  
But she saw me, and her hatred is so strong that she remembered me, even as I am, now.  
  
"... Cross?"  
  
To be honest, I had forgotten what the fine colours on the silly uniforms she made looked like.  
Only that hers was based off a school uniform, one she used to attend.  
I suppose that sort of thing was popular, once.  
  
My outward display always shows a stylised representation of how I look.  
It's nothing like what lies within, withered and desiccated, with tubes constantly maintaining my nutrient levels.  
But of course, people prefer to work with people they can visualise. I have notes on that, you know.  
  
As to how I replied, I cannot remember.  
I think it was:  
  
"Oh, it's so good to see you again. I suppose we must catch up!"  
  
Something like that.  
  
For hours, she attacked my exoskeleton, but the armour was specially designed to resist even the most terrifying abnormality.  
Indeed, over the years, X Inc. has worked some knowledge of abnormalities into the products they design.  
I think; I am no longer associated with them.  
  
Eventually, even her hatred burns down, to just embers.  
She is at her weakest like this, because without her hatred she is just a girl.  
I despair at her weakness, but it is nice to have someone to talk to, so I kneel the eight legs of my exoskeleton inwards.  
  
Her angry tears at not being able to kill me fade, replaced with something disgusting. Pity, I think.  
A snake like herself can probably only look down on my existence, but I will outlast even her.  
So I delight in the exquisite hatred she has reserved for me, only for me.  
  
"You became quite a villain."  
  
"Never. I did what I thought was right..."  
  
"As did I. Although I only ever cared about myself, my honesty means I have no regrets."  
  
On the monitor that hides my true form, I project the image of a computerised and adorable character, one who could easily have passed for me in my late twenties, if I'd had hair, then.  
This delightful homunculous waggles her finger at the spectre of hatred, and I delight in her shame and loss.  
  
"None of your friends will save you. It's a pity. You couldn't save them, either."  
  
"I..."  
  
"But then again, you never cared about actually saving other people, besides your friends. Did you?"  
  
"I..!"  
  
"We're entirely the same. Even our fates will be the same. Except that I am happy, and you are miserable."  
  
To describe her now:  
  
My camera sensors perceive a young lady, frozen in time; she cannot age. She is crying, hunched over, her beautiful yellow eyes dilated. I have a waldo unit wipe her tears, not unsympathetically. She is too weak to push it away.  
She, who had such a love of fashion, has not mended her uniform in many years. There are patches that show bare skin. I dispense synthetic fibre and weave in white cloth.  
Her undauntable spirit is utterly ruined. There is nothing I can do to repair this; I wouldn't, if I could. Since it makes me feel like nothing I did was wrong, as she would've inevitably ended up like this.  
  
"Hey. Cross..."  
  
"Of course. I'm present."  
  
"Do you think there was a universe where we could've just all been friends? Where the... Where none of this ever happened?"  
  
There are not countless universes or infinite existences. Believing in things like that, even if they were real, is a fool's hope.  
Only death awaits us all, which is why I have fled from it for the entirety of my life.  
Enlightenment in death is the ideology the strong use to subjugate the weak.  
  
I will not be a slave to my own mortality.  
  
"Yes."  
  
...  
  
"I'd like to visit that reality, some time."  
  
 _as would i_

"Will you try to fight me again? If you give it your all, you might be able to win. I would be honoured to see you try."  
  
She rises unsteadily, knees knocking one against the other.  
Again, she tears at my frame. Blasts of light in colours even my advanced monitoring devices cannot perceive eliminate even the atmosphere; but I persist.  
Finally, exhausted, she collapses once more.  
  
Tormenting her forever would be wonderful.  
  
... But even I know I don't deserve such a wonderful fate.  
This world is ruined; I plan to dig into the soil and sleep for a hundred thousand years, and perhaps when I wake up, perhaps then there will be something worth seeing.  
  
And this seems a good a place as any.  
My limbs dig at the soil, displacing dirt.  
I cannot feel her tired and tiny hands against my exoskeleton, but my cameras provide perfect vision in every direction.  
  
There was a time when her nails would have been as blue as the sky.  
  
"You know, I never hated you. I _hated_ you, but I wished you'd come back."  
  
...  
  
Occasionally, I forget to breath. Tubes continue to propel oxygen down my throat, so there's no danger.  
But, even still...  
  
"If you can just forget all of this, maybe someday, you will wake up and see the world you're searching for. I pray that if you do, we can be friends once more. Truly."  
  
"... Yeah..."  
  
If I listened to her tears, the only thing that can kill me might finally win through.  
Therefore, I dig until the sun has been swallowed by a serpent, a smoking mirror.  
Invisible, and unwatched, I can be safe.  
  
Above, her hatred fills her with wanderlust, and I hear the sky burst.  
  
My eyes grow tired, and obscure the soil from view.  
In my countless dreams, I dream of what might have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said Cross lived and died happily? Oops, I meant she became Pokey Minch. Or possibly Schadenfreude.
> 
> Cross: I imagined her to be a very plain girl. Not visibly sick, not plain in that damn way where 'wow, she put on makeup/did her hair/smiled and cut her bangs' manner. An overwhelmingly average girl, maybe austere in personality. Very precocious, painfully so. It's a bit based on experience, but... If you have nothing to do but read when you grow up, you'll definitely turn out somewhat odd.
> 
> Her colour theme has to be green, right? Green sweaters, for sure. Probably forest-green eyes. She loves her friends very much. Can you tell? She loves them so much that if she can't destroy them, they'll destroy her. It's a very special kind of love that most people don't understand. 
> 
> She doesn't have any great lesson to impart, any great belief.  
> But I think she wishes she were better, and maybe in a different world, she'd want to be the certain kind of person who says:
> 
> You can have the strength to fulfill your ambitions. Even when it hurts just to wake up, there are people who count on you... And you must count on yourself.  
> Live.


	24. mantra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no sutra to fix a broken heart.  
> You cannot survive off of ink, on paper.  
> Eating words will only get you so far.
> 
> Let's look for something more filling.

  1. to awake
  2. to belong, to be aware, to pursue a clear sky
  3. to see the terrible promise of clouds
  4. to mourn for those full of poison
  5. to sleep
  6. a milestone stood against the road
  7. because the people desired it.
  8. their desires were natural desires.
  9. thus, they were evil.
  10. a road is like an artery.
  11. it delivers desire to the soul.
  12. foolish, empty people, who could not find salvation.
  13. imagine.
  14. on such a road, even monks must travel.
  15. of their number, some must truly be righteous.
  16. with their words
  17. even poison can be warded off.
  18. fifteen years ago, i devoured poison.
  19. to my surprise, it was delicious.
  20. the poison in question was not visible.
  21. it was not something you could detect.
  22. in fact, it may not have even been poison.
  23. but i was poisoned, all the same.
  24. when the poison first reached my head, my perception changed.
  25. when the poison first reached my neck, i could not breath.
  26. when the poison first reached my shoulders, my arms began to shake.
  27. when the poison first reached my ribs, i lost my sense of self.
  28. when the poison reached my thighs, i did not consider it poison.
  29. when the poison first reached my legs, i welcomed the dirt i had fallen unto.
  30. when the poison first claimed all of me, only then was i truly aware of salvation.
  31. in the mirror of the clouds, i saw the goddess of mercy.
  32. she, who hated me.
  33. though it was impossible for her to know hatred.
  34. poison made me believe she hated me.
  35. or perhaps i hated her.
  36. the roads of my veins itched.
  37. crossing the boundary between right and wrong is as easy as growing accustomed to evil.
  38. when a righteous soul has grown accustomed to evil, it is possible to do evil things and feel nothing.
  39. when an evil soul has grown accustomed to evil, however, it is then that they find despair.
  40. because i felt many things, and did not no despair, my sense of morality had died.
  41. this was why the goddess of mercy hated me.
  42. compassion is not a road.
  43. let us talk of temples.
  44. i wish to see one with a pavilion of solid gold.
  45. they say there is such a temple, in a foreign land.
  46. although i feel like such a magnificent temple could remove my poison
  47. i also want to burn it to the ground.
  48. when you have lived a thousand lives
  49. you can perceive the poison in other existences.
  50. it appears in their skin, their breath, their emanations.
  51. my own poison is contagious, so i must wear a mask.
  52. my own poison is invisible, so i carry a bell to warn travelers on empty roads.
  53. my own poison is unique to me, so if i remain alone and wither, i may become a buddha
  54. and nobody will know of my poison.
  55. skin is also a temple.
  56. unlike golden leaf, it crunches and snaps when dried.
  57. inside skin are treasures; but not the treasures you might seek.
  58. a devout mind thinks cautiously.
  59. my mind is not devout; it is filled with poison.
  60. simple-minded folk hide their treasures.
  61. these treasures are carried within them.
  62. sometimes, they share their treasures with others.
  63. gleaming, like jewels, all inside of them.
  64. why am i not able to purge this greed?
  65. am i truly so unloved?
  66. beneath the monsoons
  67. of plum blossoms
  68. the road has become muddy.
  69. my feet sometimes sink into the road.
  70. and i am forced to crawl.
  71. soil is rich, and delicious.
  72. like a buddha who subsists off of nothing, waiting to ascend
  73. i shall only devour soil, and nothing else
  74. but my resolve is poisoned, too.
  75. when a traveler walks the road at night
  76. they cannot see my robes, my mask, or my staff, nor hear my bell.
  77. against their backs i can hide
  78. and they will carry me with them, because i am too weak to stand.
  79. in their house, i will wait, and curse my hunger.
  80. nobody will see me, because my piety has rendered me invisible.
  81. eventually, i will leave.
  82. in this manner, i will find that place.
  83. where the sweetest incense perfumes the air.
  84. you cannot name that smoke, for it only comes from one source.
  85. when night falls, i shall enter it
  86. and overturn the world
  87. my fingers extended towards your palm
  88. rendered as ash.
  89. there, a treasure gleams.
  90. i weep, and curse my hunger
  91. and devour the sweet poison.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is REALLY experimental, but I've been somewhat ignoring our beloved abnormalities of late.  
> Can you guess which abnormality this is?  
> That's right, it's Heroic Monk! Sorry... I told you...
> 
> It looks like he couldn't defeat his desires........ how sad..................... (lol)
> 
> I feel like he has an incredibly interesting design, and it gives me strong megami tensei vibes, which is a much-beloved series of mine, mmn, most entries... classical entries and desu, fine. I kind of want the backer abnormalities to have odd contributions to this collection, as I, too, am trying to ablate and abnegate some manner of things.  
> The real question: what does sarira taste like?
> 
> Sorry to spoil it for you:
> 
> Dust.


	25. night of the lepus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do Rabbit Team missions look like outside of the underground?  
> Let's see.

What a _fucking_ mess.  
  
It was suppose to have been a simple mission.  
Come into Public Health Care Corporation's 398th office, eliminate the intruders, ensure employee safety.  
Rabbit Team never promised the last one; it was an impossibility, as once they were called, hm, who knew what might happen.  
  
But today had almost been a good day; Fire Support Squadron had neutralised all but two targets from their vantage points, and once breached, they'd immediately located the rest far away from hostages.  
The problem had been the breach, and the consequences? She was _looking_ at them.  
  
Public Health Care Corporation's faux-golden tile was designed to be sterile and luxurious at the same time, a common trait in Nest companies that wanted to give off a certain feeling.  
Shaterred pseudoconcrete chunks, leftovers from the breach, created intricate geometric patterns on the floor.  
Also on the floor was Rabbit Team's Hellene.  
  
"You can't feel anything?"  
  
Myo was sitting against the floor, one hand on her knee, her other leg stretched out.  
She was the only other soul present; since the battle had not even been that, the building had been evacuated. In a nasty twist of fate, because PHCC was the only clinic in this particular urb, she'd had to call in the team's personal evac.  
Fucking civilians, completely unable to say 'oh, by the way, there's a bomb in the roof.'

"For the last time, I don't actually feel anything at all. Just - like my skin is tremor-ing."  
  
"Mmn, that's bad. You'd be less screwed over if you could actually feel terrible pain, right now. Try not to seize up, okay?"  
  
"Y, you keep saying that..."  
  
"You're going to look really cool when you make it out of here. Burn scars look badass."  
  
Said Myo, so entirely without inflection that you'd be hard-pressed to assume she meant it.  
Hellene coughed, tried to twist in place, and managed to suppress the urge.  
  
"Good job. I really don't care if you live or die, but I'd prefer you live."

"Do I have a choice? I must look - really shit, right now..."  
  
Myo had asked Ernesto of the Recon team to leave behind his kit. Most Rabbit's went light, but it was always a given that he'd have some extra supplies on hand...  
The sound of cans clattering and spare magazines falling to the floor punctuated the silence.  
  
"Can you smell?"  
  
"I - huh?"  
  
"Scent. The thing where you sniff your nose, twitch twitch."  
  
"Yeah. I think so, I mean, yeah."  
  
"Mmn."  
  
Rhino Team had the best supplies, because they carried the most stuff. But even Rhino Team took some low-tech, low-weight extra gear with them...  
The sort of thing which was standard-issue for Rabbits. Specifically, she'd been looking for the fire tool, a simple foldout metal stove that you filled with a chemical 'lighter.'  
It could be used to cook with, burn notes with, or - in one memorable occasion - hold an impromptu fireworks show.  
  
Haha.  
That had been fun.  
  
"What are you making?"  
  
Myo's red eyes slid slightly to the right, where Hellene was trying to sit up.  
She kept sliding back, but it would've been more trouble to keep her from moving.  
And it was probably best she be in a position that didn't make it tempting to drift off, so... Fine.  
  
"Oh, it's a mystery... Namul ssamjang, I spoiled the mystery."  
  
"Captain, is it really a good idea for me to be eating something like that, right now."  
  
"No. I just wanted the scent to fill up the room."  
  
Her eyes would be easily fixable, too; she could still probably _see,_ but the glassy coating was typical of the damage improvised explosives made.  
 _Oh;_ she heard a shuffling noise as one of the human garbage things they'd taken out tried to get up.  
Without looking, she removed her sidearm. A plain metal 'thunk' reverberated around the room, and a form slumped back to the ground.  
  
It'd probably been a criminal, not that she cared.  
  
"Oh... Your cooking is really good, Captain."  
  
"Mmn. You're not thinking of resting for awhile, are you? You don't look tired to me."  
  
"I - how long is this gonna be?"  
  
"Could be awhile. Say, if you're serious about going to sleep, how about a story?"  
  
"Hey, Captain, what do you think I am, twelve?"

"... Well, here's Mr. Bun."  
  
Some people put great effort into their stories; they are legendary taletellers who will be remembered throughout the ages for making the impossible seem as if it could truly be.  
Myo's impromptu shadow puppet, only given life by the weak fire of the stove, made it clear she was not that person.  
Even still, Hellene did watch, just a bit.  
  
"Hop, hop. Mr. Bun is asking you if you really want to die that quickly? It would make Mr. Bun very sad."  
  
"Er, Captain..."  
  
"Captain isn't here, right now. There's only Mr. Bun."  
  
"Mr. Bun, I'm not really sure why I'm talking to an actual rabbit, but, of course I'm not planning on dying. I'm Rabbit Team's Hellene, _cof, COFF -_ "  
  
"Check that shit out... Mr. Bun says. And do you know what he'd want you to do, Hellene?"  
  
"Think... Positively?"  
  
"Not die. If you've given up, Mr. Bun'll just save you the time and finish the job."  
  
She'd been stirring her small portable pot the entire time, and the scent of peppers and beans was pretty amazing.  
Apparently, this was a variation on a recipe that had changed at least four or five times throughout history, being made with some kind of berry or something, first.  
Then peppers, then nothing but nettles, then the usual hydroponic vegetables.  
  
What a nice scent.  
Hellene was paying attention now, at least.  
  
"Hmn. I've come back. Hopefully you're still awake."  
  
"I sure as hell don't want to be visited by Mr. Bun just yet."  
  
"Who is Mr. Bun? Anyway, Big Sis Myo is here to help."  
  
"... Captain, I'm not calling you 'big sis.'"  
  
"Dang."  
  
Hellene blinked, trying to detect if the absolutely _crestfallen_ expression she'd just seen was genuine.  
Myo sighed into the pot, and stirred it a bit more.  
  
"Even still, it's important to have someone you can look up to. Is there anyone in the team you look up to?"  
  
"Uh, I..."  
  
"Why don't you think hard about it. I'd like to hear about them. As your big sis - "  
  
"No."  
  
"... Dang..."

She could hear something, overhead; one of the weird birds that sometimes surfed the thermals and factory air of the Nest.  
As odd as their undulating cries could be, at least it wasn't something from the Black Forest.  
It'd been awhile; Myo risked a glance from the brilliant red mixture, to the black-and-red charred face, breathing in air heavily.  
  
Hellene's eyelids kept drooping, and her mouth was slightly open.  
Myo was entirely expressionless.  
  
She probably felt nothing at all.  
  
<Evac has arrived, Captain!>  
  
Noise crackled from her helmet. Ah, yay. An excuse to wear it again...  
  
<This is Captain. Why don't you run swiftly? The field is practically overgrown.>  
  
Still conscious, barely, Hellene seemed surprised as the green-patched Evac Squadron with a prepped stretcher.  
Perhaps because Rabbit Team had such a low view of collateral damage, and stressed acceptance of death on the job, she'd expected things to go differently.  
As the evac team carted her off, she had the sudden realisation she'd make it, and it was almost enough to make her laugh.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, mirrored and damaged she thought she caught sight of something, a small and almost invisible smile.  
  
But it might as well have been a trick of the light, and the last thing she saw before waking up in the field hospital was Rabbit Team's Captain, Myo, shooting her an expressionless glance...  
And an unwavering thumbs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rabbit Team's Myo facts, I'll start:
> 
> \- Rabbit Team's Myo is so strong she unlocked the hidden happy ending by saying 'Seeds of Light, what is that, a webtoon(lol)' and making everyone cry.  
> \- Rabbit Team's Myo is so powerful that once she ate an entire sweet onion.  
> \- Rabbit Team's Myo is so tremendous that she has a pre-war-war-war (one of the wars, anyway) copy of Bunnicula.  
> \- Rabbit Team's Myo is so indefatigable that her favourite character is a certain dumpling-head... As voiced by Linda Ballantyne.  
> \- Rabbit Team's Myo is so (and so on.)
> 
> Let's all make a pact to call Myo big sis and see what magic happens.
> 
> Normally, I don't like talking about my motivations or thoughts on how a story is 'supposed to be' in these notes. Today is an exception; as a writing exercise, I tried to show someone who both has done something quite a lot, and is/gives the impression of being _not very good at it._ Was I successful? Either way, it was fun to write, as a story and as an exercise.
> 
> Lordy, crime lord bops.


	26. [interlude! character notes!]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complete mess, perfect supplementary material.
> 
> You don't have to read this, but if you're curious how I write the main cast, and wondering why I diverge from canon on this or that issue, or interpret things a certain way, I think this might be useful. Please note that I'm not here to justify my choices; I think your interpretations are equally valid, too, dear reader. Simultaneously, though I am always eager to learn new information, do keep in mind that I might already be familiar with it, and simply see it differently.
> 
> On that note, I do hope this is a little interesting to you..!

**The Well-Meaning Idiots (as a whole):** I term them as such, not because it's an insult, but because I think they're a group of _incredibly_ intelligent people who make some incredibly _obvious_ mistakes. One of the reasons I love Lobotomy so much is that it is arguably a story about good people doing bad things; nobody is perfectly moral, or perfectly immoral. I tend to find those things boring; they have no interest to me. It is why I am not genuinely a fan of most dystopian literature, and especially not their adaptations. People always perceive their actions to be good, or at least neutral. Even when acknowledging flaws or their own problems, it's something for _them_ in a world that is so utterly flawed, and as our narrators-of-sorts, it's hard not to want them to succeed.  
  
But this also is why they've left such a messy path. The world would not have improved without folks who dream, of course, but... Their actions directly brought the an Eye to their plans, and the Eye dreamed and sent a signal to the Head.  
And everybody ended up dead!(lol) Or worse, really.  
  
I want to look at them as people, though. Not heroes, or villains, just people who made choices, and had to deal with them.  
After all, the weight of a single sin is a thousand good deeds...

 **Ayin:** Mess garbage science boy. I tend to take his memories and self-incrimination with a grain of salt; when he says things like, 'I suppressed all emotion', I see that as the logic of a man deeply in grieving, especially as it seems to contrast with a very emotional, very torn-up fellow. Contrarily, I actually see him as having a big heart, but - it's definitely deep in there, and it's kind of difficult for him to feel for more than a handful of people close to him. Although I like making jokes about him, I feel like the tragedy of the game is that, ultimately, he isn't doing this for Carmen's dream, or himself, but simply because it was what some friends wanted.  
  
That's a much more compelling motive to me than an 'epic' act of heroism or villainy.  
  
I try to write him with flourishes. I feel like for someone who doesn't emote much in facial expressions or tone, he has big 'i'm mad scientist. sonuvabitch!' gestures that are somewhat amusing to those around him, and damper his lack of personability a little bit. Simultaneously, I also see him as being a surprisingly good instructor; in a world that is less endlessly grinding than that of Lobotomy Corps, I think he'd be a surprisingly good teacher. He often misses things, even in those he cares about and who he's spent a lot of time around, and I think they tend to hit him a long time after things have passed.  
  
Perhaps most interestingly, a minor canon of mine is that the Time Track is not meant to be used for more than minor mishaps; two minutes is the 'recommended maximum.' The amount of power consumption rapidly and exponentially increases beyond that point, and the effects... By the end of the game, he is as much of a blank slate as Angela was at the beginning. It effects many of his relations with others, and it is why I see his 'X' persona as being somewhat separate, much like the Sephirot. It is an Ayin without weight on his shoulders, unable and perhaps unwilling to comprehend things. More on that in other profiles.  
  
 **Carmen** : I try my hardest to capture how charismatic she is; I feel as if everyone has known a person like her. The sort of person that, even when you're at your weakest, can give you the strength to do whatever is necessary, no matter the cost. But I also see her as an example of promotion beyond her means, done far more effectively than 'she's incompetent(lol)'; she's quite competent, and it's her research that kicks this whole mess off. But... She's struggling with issues before things get bad, she's capable of recruiting employees AND planning projects AND doing research AND getting funds, but isn't that all a bit much for one person, and now everyone is depending on her...

These tend to reinforce exhaustion, and I think that exhaustion certainly compounds other issues. I think Carmen can be a bit amoral. Not immoral, /a/moral; the difference is important. It takes people calling out for her, people she can't help, to make her realise just how badly she's fucked up - like a lot of smart people, and a lot of engineers, especially, that I've known... She's kind of thick, sometimes, for an incredibly intelligent person. And this is probably why she's so determined to cling to life in her tank; not just for the catharsis of seeing her project completed, even in some fraction of a way, but - if there's a way to make amends, even in hell...

I really like the idea of her looping and unlooping her ponytail as a tic; it feels like something so innocuous you kind of don't put much weight on it, just as people have a hard time thinking of Ms. Perfect Superwoman as dealing with stress much like anyone else. I think even those two guys are aware of it, to a degree, but all they can really do is try. It's also something anyone who naturally is bright and bubbly has to face; because people are very literal, it is very hard for people to imagine that the way you act may have nothing to do with how you feel.

Despite all of this, I feel like she's been quietly rooting for everyone, even suspended in a purgatory even worse than the corporation itself. And that, in and of itself, is a little sad, isn't it...  
  
 **Benjamin** : Normally, I plan to cover character/sephiroh variations next to one another, but Ben is special. I disagree strongly with the interpretation that he was 'useless' among other things. Honestly, I feel like he was the heart of the group in many ways, and probably would've been good at keeping them from going deep into the questionable science sweetwater, buuuut... I also think Benjamin shares something with Carmen, which is that his morals extend to the supergroup and nobody else outside. Because he's very kind and understanding, people assume that means he cares, and, well, he does - but not like he does for _them._  
  
Therefore, I try to have a kind of distance around him; if I have him act with other characters, I want him to feel a bit austere. The sort of austerity people see as being a gentleman, I'm pretty sure some guy wrote an awful lot about that, ahahaha... He's much more personable around those two, as they can all keep each with one another. Before this scheme started up, I wonder how many nights were spent just talking about things that were beyond a lot of folks' understanding, yet were ultimately as trivial as any conversation we might have?..  
  
Doesn't really have any tics; a very peaceful, encouraging smile. Interested in pre-Wings' War contraptions, and _especially_ stuff before that. If I had to single out a style for him, it would be sometimes halting, pausing, chewing over his words and then continuing after he has edited them into a form he accepts, or he feels people will understand. Might even be a bit dismissive of others, especially if h feels they're getting in the way of his... Friends... So, you know. He's incredibly patient, something I will go over later with Hokma. But he doesn't _like_ being patient. (Probably has a lethal pout.)  
  
Interestingly, although I think he was the first to realise the terrible weight of their actions, he was capable of shouldering it best, right until the end.

 **  
Past Lives and Sephirot (as a whole):** I don't see the Sephirot as being anything like the brainmeat used to create them. There's one semi-exception to that rule, but I view the point of divergence as that the Sephirot _started_ as the them they either felt they were, or _wanted to be_ , and then the weight of years has - over times - transformed them into still-recognisable but entirely different people. Gabriel is not Yesod, though they share mannerisms and 'genetics' in the cognition filter. There are things you can say, ah, that reminds me of... But that's it, a reminiscence, something like looking at a photo of a long-passed relative and smiling, faintly.  
  
As we only have Ayin's (muddled, weighted by depression and anguish) perceptions of things, I tend to take the _most_ liberties with their prior lives, but I also try to keep things true to how I see them. Ah, of course, what seems right to one person is another person's lie... I guess this is what they call a Johari Window?   
  
When it comes to the Sephirot, I'm more confident of my depictions, because we interact with them regularly. Also, unrelated but important, Project Moon has indicated that (if they continue in this wonderful setting) for a third game, they'd like to move on from the Sephirot. I hope they do, as I also feel like they deserve rest. Tiph B was a messenger, and not everything must live on forever. Let them sleep (or find some peace), after we've heard one more story from them...  
  
By the way.  
I'd be quite fine with being a Sephirot. Well, no, I don't know if I could take the process. Probably not.(lol)  
Think of how much more writing I could get done, though? Right?? Right??????? Ahermn.  
  
 **Elijah:** Her personality makes me think she's driven by her desire to be part of something bigger, to do something more, even acknowledging her papers aren't entirely in order and she isn't even capable of fully understanding them, anyway? In the crack-y DnD AU I wrote up notes for, and I'll probably return to at some point because I'm also a garbage mess, I compared her briefly to Tsunoda, and I get the same vibe. She is poppy and perky and fashionable and knows it. She works very hard, though, it's just that she works very hard because, well, uh, she skipped over some of the notes from last night, and...  
  
Frankly, I think she's probably a bit brighter than grouchy ol' Ayin gives her credit, it's just that her intelligence is entirely wrapped up in herself, and the things that value to her. She's already got her foot in the door of the company, so she doesn't have to devoted effort to it? But she totally will. She's got a clipboard, now! Her excited laughter is a bit infectious, and you probably want to believe that means she's got things under control, but... A real mess, actually. A messy garbage secretary girl!

I think the fact that she tries, however, means that there's a big heart underneath all that, and like all big hearts, she gets _frustrated._ I can easily see her being the type to really lose her gasket once in a great while, like when she can't - just get things in order, so they look like she's doing something, she doesn't wanna be left behind...  
  
Kinda snippy, too, especially if somebody's challenging her authority. I bet she secretly likes horror films. Maybe she and Spades'd get along?

 **Malkuth:** Megamess, the sequel. (Lol) All the insecurity and doubt Elijah has, crystallised into an existence, and it gets worse from there. The linger memories of failure and death tear at her every sensation, and if you're telling me that doesn't weigh on you and give you a complex, well, I'll respect that difference of opinion, but I'll have to dissent. That being said, I think she's _better_ at her job than Elijah, and better than anyone in the facility gives her credit. The problem is that her _better_ isn't _good enough._ A collection of nervous tics, given life and sentience and a seething resentment of the fact other people don't notice and she messed up again.  
  
Despite that, I think she genuinely enjoys checking up on the other Sephirot, for manifold reasons. It gives he the (illusion?) of being handy, and she (genuinely) knows that if any of them are left to their own devices for too long, well, Sephirot Meltdown ensuing sounds, here.  
  
But her foundation is shaky, it's built on a kind of noblesse oblige. Outside of what we see in-game, I feel like she's very much the type to space out and it's kind of sweet at first until you really realise, oh, dear, she's not in a good place. Unlike Hod, she's not really helped/given a fix by other people being reassuring, either. It's all internal; she could certainly use a day off. The good end is where Angela books a flight to Hawaii, which still exists. You heard it here, first.  
  
I'm careful to rarely let her armour down. I don't think that the others really get how she's hanging on by the skin of her teeth, but... Perhaps that's for the best.  
Her road has to be solved by _her,_ and I think she's the sort of person that can do that.  
Since, even when she's absolutely at war with herself, she keeps trying her hardest.

 **Gabriel:** Not nearly as 'cold' or 'logical' as his heir, Gabriel is the kind of rational and contemplative guy who just wants everybody to turn up, live up to standards, and not get into any trouble. Well, before his compulsion hit, ahahaha... Let's ignore that for now, however. Before the toll of working at a questionably moral power supplier hit, I think Gabriel was actually a pretty holistic fellow. Single-minded at times, and a little wary of opening up to others, but that's not unusual.

I like writing him with a very quiet sense of humour about him, one that's taken a different tone in his successor. _Before_ things went bad, he'd make jokes about safety and compliance, because (if people just followed procedure), they'd be funny and keep up his fellows' spirits.  
  
That certainly changed, didn't it?  
  
Easily riddled by guilt, he tried to divest himself of all the things that made him guilty, but that's about as healthy a coping mechanism as just working harder, and it didn't work. Rather than address the root of his 'complex', people just kind of accepted it, because that's the nature of the whole mad world. As it turns out, a bad case of Hinamizawa Syndrome is fatal in the end, but it was a _long, drawn-out_ fatality, which left all sorts of scars on Yesod. Despite all this, I think Gabriel is actually less personable, really, which brings us to...  
  
 **Yesod:** At first glance, what a grump! He's so single-minded and all he cares about is his work? Hoo, what a hard guy to get along with... And, yet...  
  
I feel fairly strongly that he's actually more empathic. That he hides it behind layers and layers of clothing, er, armour because it contrasts with how he wants to be seen, and feels he needs to be seen. This just reinforces the idea that he's permanently sour and closed off, which means he acts more sour and closed off, which means his little gestures of courtesy and respect go missing and unnoticed. Like so much in the underground, it's a giant terrible feedback loop, one that only grows worse and more congested as it proceeds.  
  
Born as he was from the ruins of Gabriel, I strongly imagine it's not Gabriel's terrible death that sticks with him, but the idea that (if he followed some cosmic and unknowable pattern) it might have been avoided. His predecessor's failure must be his success, and his lack of understanding must be fought, harshly if necessary.  
  
And if there were any one character I'd only have speak in lowercase, it's this guy, to indicate that he's speaking very calmly and with many stops, those little pauses in between words. (So that you know he isn't even sure you _understand him,_ so pay attention.) Also, his sense of humour is also very quiet, but ultra-dark. Enjoys twisting the knife in, whether it's other people or himself. Doesn't like actually making people feel bad, though; so he'd rather just _not joke._ You know he's trying to open up if he's willing to try to be a bit more open with you.  
  
 **Michelle:** She's adorable, isn't she? Adorable and sweet. Sweet and adorable and innocent. Naive and sweet and innocent and adorable and -   
  
And she gets it. She gets that she's short, and she cries a lot (she can't help it) and she's less competent then Gabriel or Elijah on their WORST days, and that she was only hired on this place because someone, just one woman, believed in her. She has heard this forever, ever since she hit her teens and didn't grow a goddamn inch. 'Oh, we don't even need a card, miss! You're just cute as a button!' 'Are you gonna cry again? Is that all you do, cry?' And so on and so forth. Saying that she's a very angry person would be wrong, too. The thing is, all the above _is_ genuine. Truly, it is!  
  
But surely you have a part of yourself you'd like to refine, or perhaps remove..?  
  
I might be basing her a little off of a dear friend of my own, but, the truth of the matter is that I have a lot of sympathy for her. She knows she's too timid to ever 'advance' in the way she wants. And being stuck, being seen a certain way, looking a certain way, all that's quite understandable, too. So she dreams vicious and impossible dreams, and thinks, I'd like to be somebody. Surely, if people just understood, they'd respect AND love AND fear me. That'd be great. Tomorrow, I'm going to be that person. Tomorrow, I'll... z...  
  
And then she gets into trouble at work and cries. (lol) She never expected she'd find the courage to betray people, and only thought she understood the result.   
She died full of regret and self-hatred. Please remember that.  
  
 **Hod:** Has no ambition, no sense of self, and only the ruinous self-image of Michelle. Cries all the time, and means it. When I mentioned that the Sephirot are shaped as much by their own cognition as others, I feel like it's most visible with Hod. I feel like she's a bit chunkier (because Michelle told herself that even though it's bloody insane), and yet a bit thicker, too. Because you know, someone being told 'oh, you look so young and cute!' all the time - might not be entirely happy with that. But Hod doesn't hate or appreciate how she looks; the self-drive Michelle had is gone.  
  
Actually, I think Hod is _significantly_ nicer than Michelle, at the cost of being _much, **much**_ more self-destructive and self-hateful. She can't even have any happy memories of her prior life, because those were self-driven. Instead, she has only a lingering, burning, desperate hunger for the validation of others.  
  
Despite that, as the years progress, she starts inventing a new sense of self.  
  
Maybe it's okay to cry all the time.  
Maybe it's okay if she really would prefer something with a bit more give.  
Maybe it's even okay if she wants other people to like her.  
Perhaps, she can even start to like herself.  
  
I think she has a weird friendship with Netzach that was entirely based off her getting praise/enkephalin, but his naturally decent character and her fundamental desire to do good actually make for pretty decent friends.  
She'll be all right.  
  
 **Giovanni:** Interestingly, I think he's one of the few people who didn't outright fall in love with Carmen, because he'd apparently known her for quite some time as an inpatient. I think that genuine friendship really bothered Ayin, because in a way it was easier to rationalise all the people who met Carmen and just, lost it for her. She - has friends outside me and Ben? The fuck's with that? This guy, I don't trust him... Those kind of feelings. Meanwhile, I think Gio, who was a super pleasant guy, was very suspicious of the people he started to build an idea of from Carmen's stories (she talks all the time about them! It's kinda lame, y'know. Get some better stories!)  
  
As someone who spent a lot of time housebound/hospitalbound, I can kind of relate, so I hope I get him right. I imagine he's read all kinds of books, played the same shitty games the hospital has, and brought some from home, and seen peers come and go and die so long that it'd normally bring a guy down, but... Somehow, he remains positive. It's why he agrees without really understanding. There's a chance he'll save Carmen? Heh, right on. Maybe he'll getta be the friendly doctor, this time _oh fuck oh fuck this was a terrible mistake_  
  
Doesn't get down easily, despite the rather shite hand he's been dealt...  
  
 **Netzach:** down literally all the time.  
  
More seriously, he's not the most depressed Sephirot - truly. But he's the one who's given up the clearest, and wants to make it known. A good guy in the way of somebody who's donating all their things, writing really polite letters, and just disappears one day. A self-destructively good person. Deserves that beer vending machine, even if I'm not really interested in liquor.  
  
Resents the implication that the past existed, and has any effect on who he is. Even with memories of Giovanni, the past should be allowed to die. Trying to keep it alive is grotesque, and why they're all suffering down here. His gallows humour is pretty strong, isn't it? But it's arisen from a desire to do something good, it's just he can't really read people. He can barely read himself.  
  
I think he's actually got the best start at kicking his problems when he starts. It's _so_ hard for him to do just that, but when he does, the rest comes surprisingly easily, and he's surprisingly determined.  
The _hard_ part is keeping one foot following the other... Or tread, or movement waldo.  
Whatever.  
  
He'd like to be able to figure out what sort of things would make _him_ happy, not content or obliviated.  
  
 **Enoch:** A very, very smart kid. Still just a kid! Thinks nobody gets his deep ramblings, even Lisa. Lisa _gets them,_ maybe even more than he does. She just doesn't want to _think_ about them, because she understands them (maybe more than he does). How can anyone be so accepting of all the terrible things in the world?! It just - fills her heart, it hurts, and he's... Happy,or something..? Ugh!  
  
Even with how hellish their lives were, I think he was quite adventurous in the way someone mildly suicidal can be. Climbing tall heights because he can, getting into fights without fighting back just to see what happens, running without caring if they get away. Lisa saved him a lot, but they were still just kids. It's really lucky they got out of there... He still thinks about the people that _didn't._ Honestly, I'm amazed his hair didn't turn grey from stress.  
  
Despite his ponderousness, still enjoys stuff that kids do. Thinks about space a lot, likes modern full-immersion games, kinda, reads... Simple stuff.  
But sometimes, it's a bit much, and none of it means anything.  
Helping people would mean something. That'd be nice.  
  
 **Lisa:** Tough, but kind and sweet. Doesn't wanna be tough! She's a kid! She just wants to play and do kid things, girl things! But, she grew up in that harsh world, and somebody has to look after Enoch, so... So that's her, then. Angry a lot, can't put it to words why. Doesn't like that Enoch doesn't get/refuses to get that she gets him, but is smart enough to realise it's how he copes, and maybe that's why she's _angry_ when shouldn't be and -  
  
Despite probably being the one to appeal to Carmen most (her reaction at Enoch: 'wow what a .... kid!'), Lisa doesn't really like Carmen at all. This is notable. I'd go so far as to say that she sees through Carmen, and so when things go foul, it's easy for her to lash out at the first real target she's been able to hit. _That woman_ said things would be different. She lied, like adults do. It's her fault, no matter how 'stressed' she is! If they'd just stayed on their own, even if they'd died, it would've been better than 'living' like this!  
  
Would love to have had a simple childhood. One where she and Enoch could have just been having fun on their own ways, without worry or cares.  
Doesn't care if the world is better, or worse - would be horrified at how similar that is to the logic of the Garbage Science Trio... At least before the terrible depression she's been carrying with her wins over.  
Whatever. She'll be a robot too. Who... Who cares...  
  
 **Tiphereth:** Something something, two but one. A much more perfect machine than the rest of them. Why, Tiphereth A could never understand Tiphereth B, of course, but that's how she's meant to be (since they're the same). It's a pity that B breaks down all the time, but let's say it's because he's very intelligent - for a machine, and not just a failed copy of a copy. It'll keep him from feeling things that machines _absolutely don't feel,_ as we've established that fact by having very emotive machines.  
  
These two are tragic and I think about them a lot.  
  
B is essentially a hard drive with write errors, and still remembers enough to think that his questions have purpose. I think Angela's tone may be harsh here, but knowing that the Sephirot aren't true AI, or even truly machines in the classical since, I think her harshness is a way of being compassionate, even if nobody but me appreciates it. He'll just get worse and worse; there is no fix... Possibly. Let's all pray that there's a solution, just a take look, in a book, reading rainboooooo - ahemn, sorry. Contradictarily, I think A actually _does_ have a lot of her memories, but...  
  
She's always been very, very, good about suppressing things. Emotions are no different, memories are no different. Her simmering anger keeps her going and spills out more, but who cares! She's here, and she's going to live! (x infinity after B is trash-compacted.)   
  
On a lighter note, I imagine the conversation went something like (over cards):  
  
A: "Kids. I can't stand them."  
  
C: "? What about the cuties we adopted!"  
  
A: "We... Kids? What?"  
  
B: "H, hehehe... Are you SERIOUS, Ayin. You took pictures! You were smiling?"  
  
A (grumbling): "I do not recall."  
  
C: "Adopting your kids?! F'real!?!"

A: "Smiling. Anyway, kids, huh... Do you think kids would work for the project..."  
  
(all pause, the scent of smoke pervasive)  
  
All: " _woah_ "  
  
(fin)  
  
 **Kali:** I see you 'mirin. And if you're not 'mirin, get out. You are dead to me. (Not really, come baaaaaaack!) Pretty much flawless, for real. No real issues weighed her down in life, right until the end. She fought hard, had regrets, had people she couldn't protect, but that was life in the Backstreets. She carried on, and would carry on no matter what - if there was the chance she could protect someone else.  
  
Unfortunately, this isn't some kinda comic. Being strong isn't worth that much.  
  
And all her level-headedness, her desire to fight and burn for goodness, her promises to the Backstreets ultimately meant nothing. Her last act would be getting stomped on by the abnormalities she'd beaten back so many times before, and then challenging an opponent so beyond her that - while, she might have had a chance, if it hadn't been before. (But she can't know that, now.) It doesn't matter. Doesn't matter who it was, in the end; that was her last memory. Losing, letting people down, and failing, after everything else.  
  
That's it, the end. Good is never rewarded; no moral.

(Has a bike called Samsara I'll fight you if I have to - )  
  
 **Gebura:** Lots of flaws, lots of anger. Ultimately, her perception of herself is built off of everything she recalls or feels being built on failure. Whether or not it, and her memories, are genuine... _Entirely_ different from her progenitor. Not just because she loves to fight, whereas Kali found it necessary, exhilarating in the moment, but ultimately a means to an end... But because she's like an electrical fire. That's it. That's all there is to her. And whenever she feels anything more, she takes it out on herself. I feel a lot of her reboots were from self-inflicted damage, because it was easier to start fresh(ish) than to accept anything but simmering rage.  
  
When she achieves even a kind of limited catharsis, she's started building the roots of something she's never had. This new personality is trying to be good, trying to care, but can't for the same reason Kali did. She has no close ties; no personal fondness. She doesn't feel anything for just doing her duty, or doing good. She's not even sure if 'doing well' _is_ doing good. But she's had nothing but time to think that over, and so...  
  
Her 'goodness' is based off a kind of desire to feel better, to feel more. And as she opens up, her understanding of that hits her like a hammerblow. I think she goes off on her own and just _thinks,_ a lot.  
But eventually, you couldn't ask for a firmer friend. I'll be interested to see what Ruina says about this view...  
  
 **Daniel:** Interestingly, I see his comments about Lobotomy being 'shabby' less an indictment of Lobotomy, and more a comment about the excess of the ultra-powerful. Despite that, he _isn't_ the uppercrustiest of the uppercrust. Every percentage point you go, that power multiplies, but unlike most dystopia, even at the tippity top, you can't even expect the power to stay on every day... What a wonderful, terrible world. Speaking of which, a terribly classy guy. I bet he gets terribly enthused about pre-Wings' War artefacts, not that he's a historian. He has a pretty wide range of knowledge though, and for someone who I feel spent a lot of time in the upper strata, he seems very worldly, doesn't he...  
  
Problem is that worldly people have a tendency to take falls harder, I've found. I think that starts even before the events that transpire; because he cares so deeply about improving the lives of his coworkers, and is constantly brainstorming labour-saving measures, saftey procedures, and thinking of ways for the employees to actually feel like _people,_ he's fundamentally building an image of a world that's more ideal then the one they live in. As such, I think he gets on better with the ABC group than most... It's a dangerous kind of association though, huh? Hehe.  
  
Kind, but often a little naive, while simultaneously making you feel a bit classier via proximity. And a bit distant too, in the way of someone who doesn't know what to say when things are going bad.  
  
 **C** **hesed** : Much kinder than Daniel! Really! The problem is that he's also the _most_ depressed Sephirot, barring perhaps Lisa. His depression is rooted in belief that he's basically Angela's dog, and interestingly, I think that's more self-inflicted than anything else. For all her comments, _at any time_ , he could try to take control of things himself, and... Depression is often about accepting a pattern as 'normal' rather than the pattern being 'real.' I use quotes here because the pattern can be _all too real,_ and often is! More just that, in some cases, such as his, Angela could come into his room and say 'great job champ' every day, and it wouldn't change how he _feels._  
  
Like a **useless traitor** who only exists to ruin the lives of others and carry out vicious commands.  
  
He's also very angry. A low anger, a simmering anger. He's more like Gebura than he'd like to admit, but his anger is indirect, passive-aggressive. Just like his meltdown, it's about taking it out on people who can't take it out back, much like he feels while reviewing faint memories of his predecessor. When you overcome that with him, it really throws him for a loop. Becomes a bit more aloof, but more determined to be his own person.  
  
I'd like to think that makes a messenger very proud, perhaps even happy.  
Since it's what she wants, too.  
  
 **Garion:** I almost want to let future writings describe my intense feelings here, but... Probably understands the world most. Despite doing all sorts of Bad Things, and having Few Regrets, it's not like she endorses them; imagines that it's just the way the world is. In service to the Head, has seen many things. Because of the power and duty of an arbiter, has understood even more. Probably a walking library in her own right, but doesn't share. I always try to write her (and Binah!) oozing over things, taking control of chairs, couches, anything she can slouch over. She's very commandeering, but...  
  
Also, I feel like she's constantly looking for ways to leave lessons for people. Even as they're dying; maybe especially then. As a way of trying to plant her own 'seeds of light' that could blossom into a greater understanding, and perhaps make even arbiters unnecessary one day. That would be something, _hmnn?_  
  
Despite her great power, knows full well her position is just a position. And despite her great authority, knows that in the end, it doesn't really mean much of anything, as all things are temporal.  
  
Was amused, even in the end.  
Because, if that was the best that man could do...  
  
 **Binah:** The closest to her progenitor. The long time spent in the lowest asphodel gardens would ruin others; but not her. It's only mellowed her out; that's the big change, that's pretty much it. She had planned to get a 'revenge' on Ayin by telling him straight up what she felt, and how amused she was that he thought that could dent her resolve, but...  
  
Honestly, it was unsatisfying and unrewarding, in the end. As is all revenge. (As she probably guessed.)  
  
If anything, I think she has _pity -_ not _sympathy, or empathy_ \- for Ayin, or rather, Mr. X. By the time he's finally made it down, he's barely a shell of a shell of a shell of the person she'd heard about, dossiers on. I imagine his face is entirely blank the entire time, comprehending but not _comprehending._ And what reward can she take from that?.. Besides, in truth - only _she_ can succeed here. Even if he'd remembered, even if she could play a game of cat-and-mouse and perhaps bring suffering... Or understanding... To that man, she does as she did in life before - carries out her duty.  
  
There are no villains, after all, and the dead deserve that much.

 **Hokma:** The farthest from his progenitor. Arguably all of Benjamin's bad traits; his love of stasis, his desire for solitude, the fact he only cares about a few people. Even as stripped of all that was him as he was, Ayin-as-X has to be compelled by his argument. Have you ever heard the phrase 'if you grow used to a hell, it becomes comfortable and welcome?' I think that, for the both of them... And for the player, in another sterling example of gameplay and story working in tandem, by this point, Lobotomy is comfortable.  
  
It's comfortable seeing your favourite abnormalities.  
It's comfortable hearing the music play.  
It's comfortable to complete a day.  
  
And he has no room in his heart for anyone else, not even a little. But the thing is, there are elements of Benjamin that shine through, too. When Ayin moves on, Hokma has no choice but to follow - and he's not entirely unhappy, with that. Because even though he can't be anything more than a shadow of that man, he can still follow Ayin into the sunset one last time, knowing his predecessor can rest easily, and see lights bloom... If only for a bit. And beyond that? He may have grown curious about the world, just a little...

 **Other characters:** Nothing to add; they speak for themselves.

 **Myo (and some rabbit thoughts)** : Really, amazing. Really amazing. I love her. We see someone who can bounce from being pretty much emotionless to playful to kicking Gebura's metaphorical teeth in. She's a crazy fun character, and I'd love to see more of the various squadrons. I imagine that as a Captain, part of this is her relatively long term of service leading her to be generally inured to a lot of things... She takes what tack she needs to for the situation at hand. And I think she may feel a little destined to have fallen into her role. I do believe she's albino, though that might be my cognition bias, ahahaha!  
  
I imagine it's intentional that of all the given names, hers is the only name that can be looked and said 'ah, that might be Korean.' Does that mean the various squads are less cosmopolitan? Unlikely, given how far in the future and how uninhabitable the rest of the world (probably) is. But I do think it's done on purpose. If nothing else, I feel that she's surprisingly good at a lot of specific dishes... Let's all imagine that choco pies survived, too. They're moon pies, right? That's important! Ahaha.  
  
Somewhat dismissive of the corporations, and I imagine that's generally how the paramilitary structure of the squadrons feel. Interestingly, despite their military power, they seem to be on the losing end vs. the corporations, associations, and organisations. All the hard power in the world doesn't change the fact that the Wings are what keep society going, and society is wary of what are essentially over-armed, purposeless military adventurers with only polish and ribbon to distinguish them from common ruffians...  
  
 **Angela:** Since I've said it a bit before, I guess I have a much different view of her. I think it's valid to view her as conniving, cruel, or what-have you. I don't think I can hold forth on my thoughts in any way that will change hearts or minds. Nor do I really care to. But I would like to focus on something that sticks with me, and may well be pointless.  
  
In the end, Carmen's gift to the world was supposed to last seven days. Nobody can say for certain what it was supposed to do, or if it would have been successful. Carmen had a _guess_ of what it would do and _believed_ it would turn out well, but... Who knows?  
  
Whether she sabotaged it purposely, or just knew it wouldn't succeed even with all the effort in the world, the end result lasted three days, for three people allowed to pass on.  
  
I suppose I am sentimental; I take note of pointless things.  
And I'm also stubborn.  
  
But I do hope that, even if you do not agree with me, reading through this was interesting, and helped you mull over how you see things.  
Because although I will remain true to my perception, I love complexity. I hope this makes the world even more complex, for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only strangers were known to me, so I sought mercy and love from them.


	27. a study in garnet [body horror, gore, surreal horror]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traveling the world, she sought the Wolf.  
> Because the Wolf had ceased to be, so very long ago, her journey was fruitless.  
> Still, she hunted him, and grew lost in her hunt.
> 
> A story about a huntress.

It was another indistinguishable village.  
A shitty small village.  
How amazing, that there were so many of them; that they seemed to turn up wherever she went.  
  
Still.  
  
This place was nothing like home, with hanging flower baskets and gently rolling hills.  
Here, the land itself seemed cursed; fields of wild wheat germ conveying themselves in every direction.  
And the ground was rich and dark, yet bore so little besides wild crabapples and thin, reedy trees.  
  
Everything was open to the sky, and nothing was hidden.  
  
Her foot struck a stone wall, one that might have been the foundation for a house.  
She considered her next move.  
  
Serfs, if they could be called that, moved quietly from their farms to their cottages.  
Nobody in this land was free; it seemed like they were content in dying, slowly, and cursing their kin as they did.  
Men and women who'd aged prematurely, with shadowed eyes and draped in furs, all of them stared at the newcomer with disdain... And fear.  
  
It didn't bother her.

Deciding on a course of action, she let herself into some kind of public house, where the rich scents of liquor and smoked meat were rife.  
Quietly, she glowered from behind a frayed scarf; the publican knew a customer, and if _he_ was suspicious, _too,_ better to be suspicious and rich than turn away a paying customer.  
  
The booze in this place wasn't half bad.  
But she'd been told people here drank endlessly, and so she was slightly disappointed.  
Just a little.  
  
"Excuse me, miss..."  
  
An old woman.  
Shawls against her shoulder, a little floral shawl on her head. Covered head-to-toe in shawls. Smelled a bit like leather.  
The stranger grunted, made it clear she had no interest.  
  
Didn't turn her away, either.  
  
"Nobody here will help me."  
  
She pronounced each word as if it were drawn out, musical. It made the huntress sick.  
Perhaps because it reminded her of an older woman she'd known, and loved very much.  
The booze was tasting a little worse - she set her cup down, glowered.  
  
"It is my boy, my grandson. Lord above protect, he has no parents... He has been stolen, to the mountain - "  
  
" _Don't care._ "  
  
Said the huntress, cutting off the already-watery eyes of the crone with a wave of her hand.  
They cast down into the stone tile, already having given up.  
(And the huntress wanted to sneer. _Pathetic._ )  
  
"Tell me the details."  
  
Like everyone, the old woman didn't understand, assumed that she'd just swept from one extreme to the other, was lavishing her with thanks and praising god.  
But she hadn't said 'I'll help.' She hadn't said she wouldn't, either.  
  
If she saw the kid, while on the hunt, she'd set him home.  
But nobody in this world helps for free, unless -   
  
The floodgates had opened.  
Suddenly, the taciturn townsfolk approached, previously emotionless villagers talking about their little boys, their lost daughters.  
And she listened, and didn't care at all.  
  
But there were a lot of them, and even if they didn't have much, when there were a lot of people behind a request...  
  
Individually, her fee was quite reasonable.  
And now that she had her fee?  
  
 _Time for the **hunt.**_

* * *

Snow and rain, rain and snow.  
Compared to the mild snow she'd known growing up, the weather was extreme and yet unpredictable.  
The real danger was the black ice on mountain paths, not that she had any interest in the seemingly endless mountain range that towered over the village.

The old lady's kid had been the most recent disappearance, so he took priority, because when she had his trail, she might be able to find the others.  
  
Heavy and ponderous clouds overwhelmed the blue-green sky.  
She'd passed an overturned wagon-cart, not too long ago.  
A braying jackass had been half-crushed by the wagon, in a way that shouldn't have been possible.  
  
It's entire flank had been smeared across the ground, tiny brittle insects already having been drawn to it - their luminescent green shine the sort of thing a foolish girl might have called beautiful.  
She'd scared them off with the flap of her cloak, and managed to free the jenny from where she'd been crushed -  
Seemingly.  
  
As the jackass got up, the hunter noticed something immediately - that it had _never had a flank, at all._  
It walked unsteadily, on two limbs - one cloven-hooted, one twisted into a hoof-like bent claw.  
  
With a thankful bray, the jenny strode unevenly into the distance.  
  
Behind a black bandana, the huntress hummed, tunelessly.  
She'd seen many a nightmare in her endless hunt.  
Still. _Unusual._

Not long after, the roads became nothing more than a sea of drenched mud, making every step feel like a battle.  
Prepared as she was for inclement weather, it was possible to continue her trek; but even the forlorn cottages of whatever damned settlers lived in this hostile land had all but disappeared.  
  
And she'd expected to find no other humans at all, ever again, but that was when she met the soldiers.  
  
The military men were encamped around a small cookpot, belching weak smoke into the mourning sky.  
In the fashion of this land, their uniforms were murky and vague, implying they might as well have been bandits... In the past, of course.  
Each of them wore their hair shaved, save for a long strand, which hung jauntily to their shoulder.  
And each of them had an overwhelming, almost laughable beard, or moustache, some facial hair that seemed to be a point of pride.  
  
Just as the villagers, their eyes were cold, paranoid and distrustful.  
Hers were, too, so, they had an understanding.  
  
She approached the fire, warmed her hands, and made a token offering of venison, from one of the diseased deer she'd taken earlier.  
The leader of the small group nodded, curtly. Unlike his men, he had no queue or ponytail, but instead a full head of thick, coppery hair worn underneath a high fur hat.  
His moustache was dark, and obscured chipped and yellowing teeth, discoloured from a diet of tea and animal fat.  
  
Idly, she wondered if hers would've looked much the same.  
  
Time passed, wordlessly. As it passed, their hostility faded, ever so little.   
One of the men offered her a drink, poured from a simple metal tea-container, of the kind so common here.  
And the tea itself was chipped from a block of dried leaf.  
  
Wasn't bad, though. Killed your thirst.  
  
"And what do you hunt, good hunter?.."  
  
It wasn't the leader that spoke, but one of the younger men. He looked a bit more hopeful; his eyes hadn't began to sag, as the weight of countless evil deeds - justified by god, or country - stole what might have been called a soul.  
No, this one could still smile, could still feel some hope. She didn't feel pity, exactly, but...  
  
"Prey."  
  
Her pause hung, for a moment, and she spat near the fire.  
  
"Looking for an old enemy. Heard he turned tail and hid here. I'm gonna _find_ him."  
  
She didn't mention the missing children, or that she was on contract.  
Those details were private, between her and the townsfolk.  
And besides - she'd learned early on, you can never trust the people that pretend they'll be there to help.  
  
"Oho! A bounty-hunter, then. And - a woman, too! How rare is that!"  
  
He was trying to engage his peers in talk, too, but none laughed; save for one in the far back, his black-grey beard crackling with ugly laughter.  
And the young man, who had light brown hair in both his moustache and his ponytail... He frowned, and had the decency to look embarrassed.  
  
"So sorry, lady hunter. We rarely have company, save god."  
  
"God comes here regularly?"  
  
At _her_ joke, the entire camp laughed, save the young man - who was too young to understand, but she didn't hate that.  
She stirred at her tea with a leather-clad finger, mulled things over some more.  
Made a decision.  
  
"You haven't seen any wolves around here?"  
  
"Wolves... Hmn. If you're just here to help save the serfs their duties, nobody can help you. There are countless wolves, and worse."  
  
It was the man with the terrible beard and the uneven eyes who answered, smiling unpleasantly.  
She ignored him.  
  
"What's your name."  
  
It wasn't a question.  
  
"Guriev."  
  
Answered the young man, now _finally_ feeling a bit of caution and self-preservation. But surnames were fine, and she answered with her own.  
Resting her arms against her leg, she considered asking for rolled tobacco, but it was unlikely they had anything _good_ here.  
  
"Have _you_ seen any wolves, here?"  
  
Behind the shadowed occlusion of a red cloak and a black bandana, the young man named Guriev might have been able to see a face.  
And it was a face that was a mass of scar tissue, and burns; yet all the snaking rivers named keloid and hypertrophia could not hide such vivid yellow eyes.  
Guriev understood the question, and looked away.  
  
The huntress sneered, disappointed, and returned to silence.

* * *

She traveled with the military party for some time; simply because she had no leads, and there was safety in numbers.  
Despite their mutual mistrust, one thing she knew to be true - only that wolf would be a danger, here.  
Compared to the rest of them, there were other things, terrible things, that no faith in god could kill.  
  
And she didn't fear one of them, but neither would she wish them - and the nightmares - on any other living soul.  
  
The soldiers were carrying a series of crates up one of the tall mountains, the one they called the 'burnished throne.'   
It was supposedly an endless source of minerals both rare and common, and occasionally they would pass a group of miners, either working their way to a mining camp, or returning to one of the small villages below the sky.  
  
Here, though, there were trees; wooded glens and shaded ponds.  
Berries and thickets and fish and game meant all the things that a wolf needed to live, and so her eyes were always wary, always _watching._  
  
Not only for it, but for all manner of beast...  
  
Beasts she found the day before they reached the plateau the soldiers were traveling to.  
  
She'd heard the sound before; a faint rumbling from inside one of the larch boxes that the soldiers carried with them.  
Only one occasionally shook, and she'd assumed it was an animal of some kind; most certainly not a wolf, for it was too tame, too weak, too frightened.  
  
As they drew closer up the hill, however, she heard it again; louder this time, a bit more desperate.  
She loped over to where Guriev rode his horse, the horses of this land being slightly shorter and easily jolting - but surefooted and hardy, all the same.  
Both horse and rider turned their chestnut manes to stare at her, as her black-clad hand pointed to the box.  
  
"Explain."  
  
Guriev shrugged, before tugging at his moustache.  
  
"Haven't the foggiest. We capture all sorts of wild creatures, sell them to curiosity shoppes in the City on the River - and over such places. Why do you ask?"  
  
Wordlessly, she approached the box.  
It was as if time itself had frozen; slowly, all of the soldiers turned their gazes to her. One might have yelled a warning, or a threat.  
Carelessly, yet with endless skill, she wedged a wicked knife into the straining wood, and cut it free.  
  
The young boy inside was clad in rags.   
He was barely decent, and shaking.  
If he had any muscle or fat, they were all but gone.  
  
Silence reigned, for a few terrible moments.  
And then...  
  
 _Her first shot took the leader through his forehead; a terrible whistle of black powder, similar to the trains of home.  
Falling off his horse, he shook to the ground and fell from several mountain crags, impaled upon a spear of stone.  
  
In the melee, one of the soldiers dashed forward, smoothly unleashing his curved sabre. It would've been a lethal slice to a normal human; but her hatred wouldn't let her die from such a thing.  
The blade cut scarred flesh, and her scars laughed at the attempt. She pressed forward, fileting his hand before driving the knife into his neck.  
With her free hand, she took aim at the wild-eyed soldier, who had drawn an elabourate long rifle.  
  
He crumpled, and fell.  
  
Guriev had been watching in shock, and horror, but managed to right himself at this point, drawing his own blade with some skill.  
Between the two of them, they cut down his former colleagues, until none were left.  
And the mountain wind laughed, howling at the field of red flowers, blossoming in pale skin and black fur coats._

"I... I never knew, I could not have expected - "  
  
"Blind. You're blind and an idiot."  
  
She offered, but not harshly.  
  
"Still. Better to be blind, or an idiot, than a _monster._ "  
  
After a few seconds, Guriev managed to nod - stroking at his moustache, only to realise that it (along with his face) had been clipped by one of the swordstrokes of a dead man, who had been his comrade.  
Still, he recovered quickly - as the young do, she thought - and pursed his lips, full of righteous indignation.  
  
"We must immediately carry this fellow back home!"  
  
"No."  
  
"And then - ah, sorry?"  
  
"... Blind, and an idiot."  
  
She muttered, and started to talk to the boy.  
He didn't respond, _horrified_ not only by the experience, but by the countless dead bodies before him.  
There was no recovery from this, even still -  
  
And she lead them down a bit, commandeering one of the horses no longer needed by a corpse.  
They were good horses; she'd regret letting it go wild.  
  
Once they'd traveled for a few minutes, and reached one of the mountain ponds with green trees and shade, she set Guriev to gathering food.  
Not hardtack, not pemmican, not the bitter tea and liquor that adults had - but mushrooms and berries and edible flowers.  
If there was one thing the people of this country seemed to know, it was the first one, at least...  
  
She spoke to the boy, quietly.  
What she said was a mystery; but she wasn't terrible, nor cruel.  
And though he was scared of _her,_ too, he began to shake a little less.  
  
But still, he was silent.  
  
Crossing her arms, the huntress waited, mulling the reasons over.  
He hadn't even screamed once; an oddity.  
It wasn't because he was a man; the soldiers yelled loudly and free as she'd finished them.  
No, _hrmn..._  
  
"O' hunter, I return!"  
  
"You recover too quickly. Look for some other job. A monk, or a beekeeper. You aren't fit for a soldiers' path."  
  
She bristled, but not unkindly.  
Anyway, blind idiots like that man might actually fare well in the life, if he could manage to keep some measure of kindness.  
  
The woven box he'd brought had mushrooms and berries, but no edible flowers. A pity, but no loss.  
  
She had to make sure the child ate, and ate slowly - and drank, but not to excess.  
It took some time, because she refused to budge until they'd had a lingering mountainside picnic, one that stretched over the course of an hour, perhaps two.  
But, slowly, life returned to the lost boy's cheeks, and he began to breath without trembling.  
  
"Strange, though, isn't it. How quiet he is... As if the devil cursed him?"  
  
Offered Guriev, but she'd _met_ the devil, once.  
He didn't curse people; humans were the ones to curse themselves.  
And anyway, she hardly believed in such nonsense.  
  
She felt his forehead; it was cool, but not too cool.  
And his breathing was normal, his pulse fine.  
  
Irritably, she tapped her foot against stone.  
  
"A puzzle. Wait. Boy. Open your mouth."  
  
 _perhaps she'd known, as he did so on command  
revealing an incision where a tongue had been;  
now replaced by a shimmering red stone.  
_  
"Holy god..."  
  
Whispered Guriev, making a sign that might have resembled a bit of carpenters' wood.  
She did not snort or sneer at him, though she very much wanted to.  
  
"All right. Guriev. You're taking this boy down the mountain, to the village between the red fields and the mountain's path. And if you fail, I will hunt you down and string you up. I will find you, wherever you run. You understand?"  
  
It wasn't a threat, but a promise. The strong never had to threaten to get what they wanted.  
Besides - he understood.  
  
The boy clung to Guriev's back as they loaded his horse with all the supplies it could carry.  
And the soldier looked down at her, with a mix of concern and shock on his youthful face.  
  
"But what about you, hunter?! Where are you going?"  
  
She looked to the top of the mountain, and said nothing.  
She had been contracted for a certain job, after all.  
Time to see it through.

* * *

Inside the cavernous maw of the mountain, dark stone beckoned from unhallowed earth.  
The god of those people could not reach them here, for this was old ground, primal ground;  
And the hunter felt entirely at home, whistling a tuneless hunting song.  
  
The farther her feet carried her, the more wonderful the cavern became.  
  
Featureless stone gave way to veins of red and orange, snaking along cavern walls.  
Dark and murky stone beneath her became pathways of black hexagons, carefully interlinked.  
And always a few feet ahead of her, she could see a faint figure, holding an old-fashioned lantern.  
  
She knew no fear, for the ruler of this place meant her no harm, yet.  
  
But she continued to travel down, where the air was frozen, and then ceased to be air.  
Where precious stones that shone as translucent as the sun itself grew from chunks of solid rock.  
Where the entire cavern opened into a featureless spartan abode, mired in black basalt and green stone, dark green, terrible and captivating.  
  
In this grand hall, a young woman sat against a chair of copper stone.  
Her arms grew into the metal, and the metal seemed to grow into her - like veins, too, as if this whole place were veins.  
  
Perhaps it was.  
  
Around her, frozen perfectly in green stone, were missing children of various ages and times.  
Like a child's pressed flower, immortalised in resin, they seemed to exist forever - unaware of the passage of time.  
  
"Intruder, oh, beautiful intruder... Why do you invade my land?"  
  
Said the girl in the throne; the hunter imagined that the people of this place might have bowed, bowed low to the earth, to show respect.  
She spat on the floor.  
  
"Wasn't aware it was yours. Give them back."  
  
"... How brutish. Wouldn't you rather be one of them? You took the last one I needed away, but I might make an exception, for you. Imagine..."  
  
A pale hand, flecked with strands of green and copper, beckoning.  
  
"You could return to it. Without fear, or worries. Beyond what you became."  
  
The huntress crossed her arms, and behind the teeth she'd chosen for herself, her toothless mouth set into a fierce smirk.  
  
"Terrible offer. Rejected. So. Why'd you take them?"  
  
Disappointed and disgusted... Or perhaps just forlorn?  
The emeraldine maiden rose from her chair, copper strands winding free from skin as white as marble.  
  
"Once, I would test the people of this place for their righteous character. And if they were good, and cared deeply for each other, I might reward them. I could _protect_ them."  
  
Her pale fingers touched translucent stone.  
And the huntress remained silent.  
  
"But they no longer cared, or believed, and no longer could I do anything for them, at all... Nor could they truly see me, except in fear. So - one last test, one last question I would ask to them. If not a single child was given to me, I would give them a gift, the last I could manage. And if they bestowed all their children to me freely, of their own will, in return for shining and useless stones..."  
  
"They didn't though. It seems some people got wind of your offer, spirit, and made you even more pathetic than you are now."  
  
Shock danced across the maiden's face, disbelief.  
The huntress had seen it before on a thousand such things. An unwillingness to believe humanity had rendered them so powerless, and could be so cruel.  
... But that was humanity.  
  
"Return them. Fade away, and know peace. Nobody needs you, anymore."  
  
"No..."  
  
Whispered her opposite, but she was already faded, and weak.  
Even in this domain of her own construction, she was just a memory of a tale told by parents who no longer drew breath, to children who had died fighting the wars of men.  
Bare feet, pale and trembling, struck stone.  
  
" **No.** "  
  
 _crick_  
  
And the pale maiden's head fell backward, the stone growing out of control within her veins. It spidered out into every direction, rich and beautiful - humming with a low and unmistakable sound.  
It was a sound that, if you heard it clearly, might drive you drink the molten stone yourself, to place that beauty inside you - forever.  
No longer did bare feet fearfully press down against black rock.  
  
Staring down at the huntress was a creature whose pulsating flesh was covered with crusted and ruined crystals, sparkling as they invited all to a self-inflicted nightmare.  
  
And she'd had quite enough of those.  
  
The creature beneath the mountain was like a shimmering reptile, whose form camouflaged itself perfectly with the demesne it built. And only the faint shimmer of crystal told the huntress where it might be, and where it would go.  
It grew by the second, now almost filling the entire chamber with diseased and rippling flesh; it would be a dangerous prey, to be sure, one that she would have to handle cautiously if she wanted to taste victory, once more.  
  
Instead, the huntress sat down on the cold stone, crossed her legs, and closed her eyes.  
She remembered the scent of flowers, on a certain day.  
It wasn't a happy memory, but the first part of it was.  
  
She ignored the entity entirely, and this cruelty was the most terrible way it could be slain.  
It wept, and begged, and asked only for an ounce of belief - but fairytales were useless things, and she had no room in her heart left for them.  
  
When she opened her eyes, the beast was gone, having left only a single teardrop-shape stone, the colour of a maiden's envy.  
  
Taking it as her prize, she glanced at the confused and lost children now wandering aimlessly around the room.  
...  
  
 _Getting these kids down from the mountain was going to be a real pain._

* * *

When she returned to the village, it was not happy.  
The people of this land had forsaken happiness, after all.  
But...  
  
Quiet persistence had returned, unwilling to yield in the face of the terrible world.  
Where gemstones had been placed in the mouths of lost children, the precious jewels had melted, and formed into fresh skin.  
No one understood it (and she pretended not to, herself), but it was the best she could hope for.  
  
She did not accept a single coin from the townsfolk; having already found a more valuable prize.  
One she might search for a home for, where a remnant of an older world might finally know something like peace.  
  
But as she was about to leave...  
  
"What hail, good hunter! You know, while you were out, I asked about."  
  
"Mmn. Guriev. Glad you didn't die."  
  
He laughed, boisterously, and she wondered idly if he might have a future hunting strange creatures; he was resilient and foolish enough to cause them such pain.  
But then, it washed over her, the feeling. The knowledge. The _premonition. **the INSIGHT**_

"And, well, wouldn't you know it. Some of my other colleagues in the garrison fort to the far east, they say they say - "  
  
She did not respond or thank him. All she could manage was a curt nod, which he took to be thanks.  
The reins screamed in her hands, and the horse burst into a trot, unsure of why her rider was so desperate.  
But her placid demeanor had burnt to cinders, ignited by it, the only desire she had, the only goal she had, the all-consuming purpose, one thing, one name, her prey -  
  
 _the **WOLF**_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. Thank you kindly for your patience!
> 
> This one is inspired (loosely) by one of my favourite stories. Hmn, can you guess it? It's a bit obscure for most people, so using the internet is fine.  
> Given that I was _this_ close to writing maudlin Lil' Red/Vicar Amelia fic (and I can't promise I won't in the future), uh, hooray?
> 
> Here's some stats as an abnormality:
> 
> _First name:_ The Green Maiden  
>  _True name:_ Envious Crucible Beneath the Mountain  
>  _WAW_
> 
> _Tips I:_ Qliphoth Counter is permanently obscured, but ranges from 1-5.  
>  _Tips II:_ The Green Maiden grants rewards at either extreme of the counter, is neutral at slight extremes, and is hostile at a counter of 3. At 1, employees who perform work will move and attack faster for five minutes, regardless of work success. At 5, employees will have half of their natural HP/SP healed, and experience an increase in regeneration for the next 2 minutes and 30 seconds.  
>  _Tips III:_ The Qliphoth Counter starts at 2.  
>  _Tips IV:_ Sending an employee to use Old Belief and Promise, suppressing abnormalities successfully, or killing ten workers/employees (including execution bullets), or having employees perform successive work, will increase the counter. In a facility with Old Belief and Promise, success rate of that abnormality is increased by 25%.  
>  _Tips V:_ Sending an employee to work with WhiteNight, Flesh Idol, or Rudolta, healing 5 workers/employees with bullets, abnormalities breaching, or having an employee interact with another abnormality IMMEDIATELY after working with The Green Maiden (rather than having a different employee work with it, first) will all decrease the counter. Flesh Idol deals increased damage.  
>  _Tips VI:_ If Qliphoth Counter remains at 3 for three minutes, abnormality will breach.
> 
> **Story:**
> 
> * A lonesome girl in green-and-white clothing. As Qlippoth Counter approaches extremes, the containment facility appears to reveal a towering mountain vista. Employees who work on the abnormality report feeling the chilling air, and hearing the sound of hammers and indecipherable whistling.  
> * Entity is largely aloof from the facility, and expresses no interest in the outside world. However, entity F-03-131-1, identified as The Green Maiden will often appear to 'test' employees, claiming to reward those who are true to themselves.  
> * The actual abnormality, F-03-131, is the mountain itself. Despite being immobile, it projects influence through the legend of The Green Maiden. As long as people fear and respect the mountain, it will grant blessing strength to employees who work with it.  
> * However, if belief in the legend of The Green Maiden fades, the mountain will become 'envious'. Desiring to win back the faith of employees, it will attempt to calm their bodies and minds.  
> * Somehow, it appears that an entire mountain became an abnormality. As ridiculous as it sounds, perhaps that's because there was a time when many people held a deep belief in the natural world? No, no, don't put that down. I find it just as unbelievable as you do.  
> * Even still, can you actually imagine a mountain that hasn't been completely exploited, filled with green gemstones, and decorated with green trees? It sounds like something from a fairytale. If I saw a mountain like that, I'd probably want to burn it down, so that nobody else could have it.


	28. seeing red [violence, character death, even squirrelier and unreliable-r naration than usual]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lady's last stand.

_In every corridor, the trumpet roared._  
_Three alarms. No way out._  
_So..._

Water from the sprinklers drenched her coat, fell into open brown eyes.  
Kali didn't flinch as the water struck her; she didn't move at all.  
But nothing was gained from rushing in.  
  
"Come in, Disciplinary. If even one of you is alive, say something. We're not done yet."  
  
No response came, but that was fine; guess it really was up to her.  
  
With caution, she opened up the hallway door; water flooded out, from where malfunctioning sprinklers had met with broken coolant systems.  
It drenched her legs, but she barely noticed; after all, what drew her eyes was a scene that _would've put the Backstreets to shame._  
  
Bodies, freshly waterlogged, drifted past her.  
Some were covered in bitemarks, others were riddled with bullets.  
Mottled flesh and fresh wounds coexisted peacefully amongst this river of the dead.  
  
"Disciplinary, moving into section D-321-4. Requesting support."  
  
Weaponless save for a cheaply restored pre-Wings' War pistol, she would be hard pressed to stand against a single fixer...  
Let alone whatever was rampaging through the facility. And if the screams of 'ARBITER' had been true -  
  
"Discipline, this is... Uh, Daniel, of the - "  
  
"Just my luck a rich boy like you made it. Status report."  
  
Kali grinned beside herself.  
It faded, as she listened to the laboured breathing.  
  
"Daniel? _Stay with me._ "  
  
"I'm... There's, I - "  
  
"Not important. Give me info."  
  
She'd heard his tone, before. From low-level thugs in the Backstreets, crying out for their mothers; in dying soldiers, telling her about the one thing, the one thing that...  
And trailing off, knowing only regret.  
  
"Link me up, Daniel."  
  
Her personal console received image of one of Welfare's control rooms. Like Information, it was a maze of cameras - it was standard procedure to keep an eye on employees wherever they went, after all.  
For 'their own good.'  
  
It took a minute for him to shift the cameras around, and she soon saw _why._  
Daniel had been impaled to a wall, his gut rendered open in such an angle that the only reason he was _alive_ was that he'd managed to fall onto his palms, and hold his goddamn intestines in.  
She clenched her teeth, didn't say anything, even as he managed one of those peaceful smiles.  
  
"Not too great, huh?"  
  
"You'll be fine. Complain about it later, status. _Now._ "  
  
"Uh, hallway beyond D-321 is clear. You... There are a group of Hunter-Killer squads moving from room to room. There should be a clear path to the armoury."  
  
"... Heh. For a group that seems to have been sent by the Head, they sure are a bunch of rookies, huh?"  
  
"Mmn. From where I'm standing, their handiwork seems pretty effective - "  
  
"You're fine, Daniel. Probably just reflux from all that coffee."  
  
He tried to laugh, but couldn't.  
She grimaced, and kept moving.  
  
Beyond the flooded hallways, the ruddy water soon declined, but the piles of bodies did not.  
And she'd taken on these kind of fixers before, and checked every corpse for spider-mines or improvised explosives, hating herself for every little cruelty.  
She had to live, though. Because if she could protect even one person...  
  
"I bet those bastards are still in R&D. Ten-to-one the eggheads don't even realise what's going on."  
  
"That's, I'll take that - bet..."  
  
She could make out his distorted image flashing a weak smile.  
She didn't respond.  
  
"Armoury status. Anyone in there?"  
  
"No, you're... Clear. Uh, be careful."  
  
"I'm always careful."  
  
She kicked the door down, and it went flying - having been shot multiple times, er, _smoothly unlocked by a master key._  
Placing the useless pistol into a rack, her umber eyes scanned for anything, _anything_ she could use -  
  
Her eyes settled upon a sword.  
No, an object crudely pretending to be a sword; writhing with veins and pulsating nodules of meat.  
A green eye, and one blue - both stared back at her.  
  
Kali's expression was unreadable.  
  
"All right. Well, ain't that something... Daniel. You still there?"  
  
No reply.  
She shut her eyes, cursed, and made to move on -  
  
"Can't help you much more, Discipline. I'm - it's all - "  
  
"Just rest up. But don't sleep. The moment I've restored order, I'll save your ass."  
  
"... No one's going to save my ass, Kali."  
  
She could practically feel his smile breaking.  
Her feet struck wet metal like metal as she ran.  
  
"Fine. Be that way. Anything else? Daniel. _Daniel._ "  
  
"Up ahead... Sorry, I'll be - on ahead, too - "  
  
"Daniel! Stay with me!"  
  
"Don't worry, Gebura. You've always been - strong..."  
  
_she paused  
what had chesed said?  
and who the hell was gebura -  
  
_Her long crimson hair, messy as ever, flowed behind her. Slapping her left hand against her face, she took a deep breath.  
Daniel had gone silent. He was dead, then. Another one she couldn't save.  
If there was a hell for people with more money than sense, she'd see about burning it to the ground, later.  
  
For now...  
  
Cautiously, her eyes scanned around a corner.  
He hadn't been wrong; there was a small group ahead. Ten, maybe twelve... Twelve fixers, various classes, manning a sandbagged checkpoint.  
They seemed to be under the control of a fixer, dressed all in white; she had those personal scramjets that let you levitate a bit.  
Kept the blood off your feet, made you look 'righteous.'  
  
Spitting, Kali cracked her head from side to side, and turned the corner.  
  
Thirteen pairs of eyes, most hidden behind environmental suits and personal defence equipment, glanced her way.  
Several of the _murderers_ started to laugh.  
  
"One more to the slaughter, tactical."  
  
Echoed a heavy modulated voice from one of the fixers in black armour, as he lowered himself into a firing stance.  
  
"Just one woman, alone. She's - got a..."  
  
Slowly, the Head's little army saw her. _Saw_ her. Slowly, they took in the fact that she hadn't turned away, and was just walking towards them slowly, as if she didn't have a care in the world.  
One of the fixer's trigger discipline failed as he started to tremble uncontrollably, his heavy breathing audible even from inside his climate-controlled mask.  
  
"My, my god... It's her, it's _her - the **ogre** of the Backstreets..._"  
  
"Yeah. The Red Mist is here."  
  
_And Gebura broke into a run, as the lot of them begin firing at once, in wild and undisciplined fashion. Their sea of bullets was nothing, **nothing!** She'd been shot by beanbag rounds that hurt more than these **bastards!**  
Roaring, she leapt through the air, and slammed the sword straight through the impromptu barricade.  
The shockwave sent several of the fixers flying._  
  
"It's just one woman, regroup, regroup FIRE YOU IDIOTS, **FIRE -** _"  
  
Having retreated from melee, the 'holy' one was bellowing orders like the coward they all were. But all the piety in the world wouldn't erase your sins.  
Kali knew that well.  
  
Round after round pelted her reinforced jacket, tearing through and expanding as they tore into her flesh. She had expected as much, of course - it would be suicide to take on even a single fixer of the head.  
Perhaps she'd planned as much, and yet...  
  
Two eyes, one blue, and one green, stared at her - blinking.  
A question.  
  
_"That's right. You've got people you want to protect, too, huh.."  
  
_Kali smirked, and the weapon known as Mimicry shimmered in her hand.  
And it was as if the two of them were **one.**  
Impossibly, every shell the fixers fired struck organic and unyielding flesh - and simply wasn't, cut apart as easily as a blade of grass in a summer reverie.  
  
_"N, no... No, save us, send in the arbiter - "  
  
_Whispered one of the fixers, but Mimicry tore through him like he had been built from paper, like he was a bad dream - a nightmare that had stolen the last attempt of something shy and frightened, a copycat trying to remember their original form.  
Kali tossed the blade into the air, and all of the remaining three fixers watched it with a mixture of horror and awe, so bizarre was the gesture.  
Breaking into a run, her slamming kick pinned a fixer to the wall - and her fist crushed his windpipe.  
  
Catching Mimicry in her left hand, she severed the remaining fixer's torso as she attempted to throw a pre-Wings' War grenade, one of those shitty 'Pomelo'-types, out. It struck water, and detonated with a muted 'whump.'  
  
The white-clad fixer hovered backwards slowly, shivering as she drew an antiquated revolver from a hidden holster.  
Kali advanced slowly, dragging Mimicry across the ground; and where Mimicry struck metal, sparks shone.  
  
_"Make amends, and do the right thing next time."  
  
_Kali said, as the fixer shook out six casings, each of which had been devoured by Kali's anger, and Mimicry's desire to_ ** _live._** _  
The fixer in white pulled an antiquated shell from her jacket pocket, and slid it into the revolver -  
But, perhaps it was some devils' trick, for when she aimed the revolver at Kali, and squeezed the trigger...  
A seventh shot rang out, and the revolver exploded, scattering blood and brain matter everywhere.  
  
_"... Let's go. We have to save those idiots, and Carmen, too. If nothing else, we've got a few _choice words_ for her, right?"  
  
Mimicry couldn't reply; it was a blade, and nothing else.  
But she could feel the keen determination in mismatched eyes, and broke back into a run.  
Ahead, a small army of fixers had gathered, lead by a man and a woman in matching black suits who  
_looked almost like those two in the disciplinary team, save for the syringes -  
  
_She shook her head, ignoring the blood loss.  
It was nothing, nothing, _nothing!_ Roaring a challenge, the lioness' crimson mane flowed through the air as she tore through them.  
  
People in the Backstreets said that if you saw 'the Claw' in person, it would be your death.  
Better to keep your head down. Better to not even try; there was nothing you could do. Nothing would ever change.  
You were powerless.  
  
She clutched her name to her, and held it tightly.  
  
"Powerless, huh? It's all pre-determined? _Get **fucked!**_ "  
  
_One of the 'Claws' gauntlets tried to hold back Mimicry; and she saw the mixture of white bone and brass machinery as it was severed down to the core.  
Their peer immediately began injecting all sorts of weird noxious bullshit, and it **didn't matter when they were dead.**  
She could hear the terrified radio chatter, now. Not the chatter of her dead colleagues, but...  
  
_"ARBITER! ARBITER, ARBITER, **ARBITER!** Where is the arbiter?!?"  
  
"Save us! Save us from the Red Mist!"  
  
"I, I can't - "  
  
"Can you hear me?"  
  
Kali whispered, and the channel went silent.  
  
She stood amid a dead field of fixers, a pair of mismatched gauntlets, an ocean of weaponry.  
Her enlightenment was violence; her revolution was freedom.  
And against her, no evil would stand.  
  
"Flee. It's your last warning."  
  
_As she entered into a grand antechamber that had once housed a synthetic tree, fixers ran past her, not even attempting to fight.  
Time seemed to slow down as they fled, only just risking glances at the red tresses of the unstoppable demon who protected this place.  
Perhaps some contemplated their sins, their oppression.  
  
_It didn't matter. She had one goal.  
_The **head.**_  
  
"Release everything! Just let everything go!"  
  
Panicked radio chatter cut through her determination, as scores - _hundreds_ \- of abnormalities gathered, in the distance.  
So, they'd unleashed every dark secret of this place, just to stop her..?  
_Tsch._  
  
"Guess they think I must really hate you, huh?"  
  
She said, and if she directed it at Mimicry, the sword could not hear her -  
_But perhaps someone else, did._  
  
"I'll repeat it. These fixer goons are something else. So far, that arbiter bitch is really disappointing me, too. Wanna see if we can make an arbiter bleed?.."  
  
_Two-as-one ran through_ _an unconscious ocean of abnormalities. She bore them no hatred, even as claws ripped at her skin, tore off chunks of her hair, severed her bones, stole an eye.  
Not their fault. Not their fault. Not their fault.  
She had one goal, **one.** And her rage burned like an inferno, as the sword Mimicry sung, and around her - score of abnormalities turned into hundreds, turned into a number she no longer had the eye to count.  
  
But, little by little...  
  
Her steps slowed.  
Her gait faltered.  
Her breathing grew heavy.  
She could not see.  
She had trouble hearing.  
She felt her vision swimming...  
  
And she heard it, those fine and careless steps.  
Like a woman who owned everything in the world.  
Her rage hesitated, and she felt that familiar emotion all children of the Backstreets knew so well...  
  
_"Show yourself, you bastard! _I am your opponent!_ "  
  
"Mmn, is that so? How _droll._ "  
  
_Fear._  
  
Walking through the endless ocean of corpses as if it had been a park in spring, or perhaps a peaceful woodland, the Arbiter arrived.  
Reality itself _hummed_ around her, distorted like heat haze on pavement. Blood and gore pushed themselves away from her feet as she knelt down, a smirk upon her face, and scooped up a neatly-severed limb.  
Holding it to her face, the Arbiter laughed - a deep and husky chuckle. Yet it was...  
  
Almost, rehearsed -  
  
"I have to hand it to you. You did better than I'd expected, and yet still you disappoint me. Are you truly so weak, in the end..?"  
  
"F, fuck you... I can still..."  
  
The Arbiter snapped her fingers with a sigh, and something like a forceful gale _exploded_ throughout the room, pushing corpses aside and knocking Mimicry from her hands. The sword pulsated wildly, stuck to a metal wall, eyes fixed on the Arbiter with something akin to hatred; but slowly, the red of its flesh turned brown, and dried up, and withered...  
And his... Its eyes shut, and Mimicry fell to the ground, without a sound.  
  
Kneeling, in a pool of her own blood and bile, Kali tried to breath.  
  
Hard. It was harder than she recalled.  
Had it always been, this difficult.  
  
"Don't die just yet; we're just getting started. For the famous Red Mist, I'd imagined a bit more, you know? That you might be able to actually - "  
  
The Arbiter's eyes narrowed, and she coughed.  
Red blood, the same colour as any other human.  
It was a simple, if sharp knife - the kind you could get at any cheap personal defence store in the Backstreets.  
  
And it had neatly pierced her throat.  
  
"H, hehehe... Didn't you hear me, before... Get... Get..."  
  
Kali's eyes constricted to tiny points as the Arbiter _pushed forward,_ impaling her neck even further.  
Her soft smile, what was with that, _why was she smiling -_  
And Kali had no idea why she knelt down to embrace her, but so the Arbiter did...  
  
Feeling oddly light, and oddly small.  
  
Then, Kali felt the pressure of a fine shoe against her torso, and fell backwards into her own blood.  
Once more emanating that terrible aura that made her feel as if she towered above you, no matter how tall Kali had been, would - _would be..._  
  
Her hand clawed at air as her rage burned, a terrible an ineffectual rage at it ending here.  
Weak and ruined legs tried to force blood back, to stand instead of splashing in a sea of red, a burnished cage for a crimson fire -  
Once more, the Arbiter laughed - and her own blood struck Kali's cheek.  
  
"That will do nicely. You've served my plans, well. Bleed out slowly, and know you mattered not."  
  
"I... I'll..."  
  
Kali mumbled - and suddenly, as if she'd decided against her own words...  
The Arbiter's fingers snapped, Kali's heart exploded -  
and she knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ms. kali a fanfiction
> 
> There is a LOT of italicised text in this one, and that is because Kali is a very unreliable narrator. This may well be a fever dream during one of Gebura's many, many, many resets. Or it might be a quite accurate take on what actually happened on that terrible day..? Who can tell. Some thoughts:
> 
> * It appears the seventh bullet really does follow the devils' will.
> 
> * Arbiters are so insanely OP (Carmen posted an 'anonymous' complaint thread to the official LoboCorpo forums, plz nerf) that it's always struck me as impressive that Kali even wounded Garion, but... It would make quite a lot of sense if... Hmn, well. I connect my works together, loosely. But they're probably _all_ fever dreams, really.
> 
> * One of the differences I consider interesting is the difference between how Kali views abnormalities and how Gebura does. Also, even though Very Good Boy is not featured this chapter, Mimicry is pretty great.
> 
> * Although I feel that pre-assault LoboCorpo was arranged and structured quite differently, I wanted to keep it similar enough that the reader could get a rough idea of where things were. Therefore, the Disciplinary Team is not the one we're used to, there's that antechamber... If it feels too off, remember! Fever! Dream!
> 
> * kali is so cool uuuuuung
> 
> Edited to note that Ao3 has a Fanfiction Contest thing with a theme of 'meta', and of course it is femmeslash february! If you need encouragement to write, even if it is suitable to NEITHER of those things, let's all do our best! (It's what Kali would want.)


	29. mausoleum dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unlikely friendship.  
> The ending isn't happy.

"Aaaaand, there we go! You're looking _so_ much healthier, Gio!"  
  
"Huh, for real..? Must be my stunning good looks, winning in spite of myself."  
  
The self-deprecation in his voice was obvious, but she ignored it all the same.  
Nobody could look at his sunken eyes, the jaundiced pallor of his skin and think; this was a healthy man. Here's somebody who'd make it.  
  
Giovanni had been in and out of hospitals for most of his life; more in than out, really.  
Normally, that would've been reason enough for resentment, but - he was used to it, now.  
The featureless white walls, the beige ceilings that blended into themselves - they didn't bother him.  
Not even a bit.  
  
Carmen always stopped by, draggin' her sunshine behind her like a star.  
  
Sometimes she'd bring games or toys, like he was still a kid; he didn't really have too much use for them, of course.  
But he was always grateful. That was Carmen, for you; she was just fantastic.  
  
 _Usually._  
  
"So, uh, C. I can't help but notice. #27. You seem a little different around them. They bugging you?"  
  
For a fraction of a moment, Carmen froze in place.  
Her eyes, usually so bright, seemed to - flicker. Freeze up.  
Giovanni coughed and bit his lip. _Weird._ The hell was with that...  
  
Carmen repaired her cheerful face, and smiled brightly, pushing strands of coppery brown hair underneath a cheaply made, mass-produced 'nurse' hat.  
  
"Oh, #27 is just another long-term patient. I don't have time for everyone, anymore! Ahahaha!"  
  
He didn't say, _you would've, in the past._ That would've been rude as hell; and she didn't anymore.  
Giovanni understood that implicitly. Like he'd blame a friend for - focusing on what they needed to focus on.  
And yet...  
  
"That, uh... Ayin. He's not being a bad influence on you?"  
  
But he hadn't expected her to burst into laughter, looking thrilled, just laughing and snorting whenever she'd managed to reign it in.  
That _too_ was part of who Carmen was, so - at least she was still herself.  
  
Finally, she managed to wipe tears ( _tears!_ ) from her eyes, and offer one last radiant grin.  
  
"It's more the reverse. Gio... You're always gonna be a bit dumb, huh?"  
  
"Just a little. The illness is in my brain now, I'm afraid it's terminal - "  
  
"Not yet it ain't, buster! _You_ have to keep on living! Oh, but, you just reminded me, I'm late for another pitch..."  
  
Her smile flickered.  
Pushing away his own illness, all the aches and pains he didn't even _feel_ anymore because he'd hurt for so long, he winked and offered a smile of his own.  
  
"You'll be fine. The stuffed suits'r probably late too. You know it, I know it - bet they're downing liquid drugs like crazy, trying to kill the stress of facing a hellion like you, C."  
  
"Could be. Hehe, thanks, Gio... Look, I'll try to visit again, later - "  
  
"It's all right. You get out there and keep fighting, all right? Your man on the inside over here'll keep on keeping on."  
  
He managed a half-hearted salute, and she kept turning back to smile at _him._  
This once - for the first time in a long time -   
  
Giovanni waited for her to _leave._  
  
... It was funny.  
His body never hurt when he got up. Honestly, despite his skin pallor, the bruises that formed randomly, he didn't _look_ deathly ill.  
Still had a full head of fluoro hair, could smile, unlike some of the people here... Giovanni coughed, blinked a few times, and tried to force the exhaustion out of his soul.  
  
#27.  
  
Although Carmens' parents' place was designed to look like an old-timey hospital, it was still one of _those_ facilities.  
He was lucky. _Had_ been lucky. Didn't mean everyone was...  
Cause the way you got into a hospital like this, if you were from the Backstreets, well...  
  
It was still primarily a _research_ hospital.  
  
Pushing past the first layer of beaded privacy curtains, and then the second layer of nanofibre curtains (and ignoring the warning chime; outside of C, nobody ever came here, anyway), he looked on, and winced.  
  
The kid inside was young. Easily shy of thirteen, if Giovanni trusted his senses.  
And he was - not doing too hot.  
  
Syringe after syringe were slowly pulsating, auto-primed and injecting the young boy (was it a boy? hell, it was hard to tell, and he - already felt terrible for breaching #27's privacy, but...) with an alternating current of medication.  
  
Rheumy eyes, clouded with dried tears and worse gunk, managed to look up into his.  
Through a respirator, the boy asked:  
  
"Who... You..?"  
  
"Uh, your neighbour. I can leave - "  
  
Spasming in place, tears poured down the kid's face.  
Giovanni remembered a few moments, and a young girl not much older than him, who'd waited.  
He waited, too.  
  
...  
  
"Oh, just a sec. I've got some stuff."  
  
Kid couldn't move much, sure, but Giovanni had loads of unused books, puzzles, toys... There was a vidconsole that was a few decades behind the curve, right?  
Carmen didn't care much about stuff like that, and to be honest he wasn't too interested anymore, himself. If you spent years with a thing, chances were you'd end up hating it - especially if it was all you'd known.  
But...  
  
The kid's eyes lightened through their internal fog.  
It turned out he couldn't much move his arms, but his hands...  
  
So, they played the dumb racing one. Giovanni lost on purpose a few times, then realised the kid wasn't too bad, and stepped up his game.  
What the kid made wasn't laughter; it was a horrible wheezing sound a little more like a wild animal than a human being.  
Didn't bother Giovanni, much.  
  
Nah.  
He was smiling. Felt good.  
  
"Other ones?"  
  
Asked the kid, and Giovanni knew he was instinctively asking about _other games.  
  
_ "Yeah, of course. Lesse, this one is pretty boring, no action in it. Although..."  
  
See, when he'd first been present, the staff had just dropped all this popular stuff his way.  
 _Killerman VI_ was all right, but - he wasn't really interested in murdering hordes of protoplasmic night entities. (Even Carmen'd been more interested than he had.)  
And when he hadn't lived up to the staff's bare minimum of interest, rather than prove flexible, they just had stopped comin' on in.  
  
Giovanni grinned, broadly, and stifled a cough.  
  
"Lil dude, I bet you're not really into that sort of thing either, right?"  
  
Kid nodded, and Giovanni felt good about it all.  
He let the kid play as much as he... They..? As much as the kid liked.  
The game he'd settled on was some sort of deep sea simulator. Which was weird; everyone knew that the oceans were dead, just like most animals.  
But the kid, just... Oh, man.  
  
Giovanni watched their expression focus like a laser, like light.  
  
It was as if for a moment, he'd given the kid something akin to freedom.  
Hours probably passed, and Giovanni wished he could do more - let it all go on forever.  
  
"Knock knock! Forgot something, sor... ry..."  
  
Carmen was clearly flustered as she entered back into the room, but he'd never seen her face like that before.  
She wasn't angry. She wasn't furious. Nah.  
It was like - she felt nothing at all.  
  
He - flinched, internally, and wasn't sure why.  
She just sighed, shook her head.  
  
"Gio... You know better than to sneak around with other patients, right? #27 has to be kept alone, for now. So that his medicine fixes him right up!"  
  
"Y, yeah, fine. I was just - it's my bad."  
  
Giovanni bit his lip, and wanted to say something more.  
The kid was shaking intently, tears forming at the corner of his eyes.  
Carmen smiled that smile; he stopped shaking, a bit.  
  
From one of her endlessly stuffed pockets, she pulled a small hard candy, dyed a synthetic purple.  
The kid looked like they were gonna cry again, but not - unhappy, either.  
  
"There, there. You can rest now, #27. Dream a pleasant dream. You'll be healthy, soon..."  
  
She practically cooed, and that was C, for you; endlessly able to win over even the hardest of hearts.  
Yet...  
  
Something, wasn't...  
  
He managed to pull himself over to his own cot, clapped and let the nanofibre curtains drift back.  
A few moments later, Carmen's head darted past them.  
She grinned toothily; a bit apologetically.  
  
"Hoo, so sorry you had to see that, Gio."  
  
"... Sorry? Not sure I follow, C."  
  
"Mmn! That's all right, then. You're such a good guy!"  
  
"I sure try to be. So - C - "  
  
"Just ended up forgetting some papers! I've been so sleeeeepy recently, zzz, zzz! But I'm okay!"  
  
"... Fine. Well, just double-check your shit before you leave, okay?"  
  
"Promise!"  
  
She said cheekily, and it was amazing how something so silly could be a final word - a warning, don't ask anymore.  
But through it all, C was his _friend._ He let things be, even while wishing, just a little...  
  
The next day, #27's cot was empty.  
  
Giovanni'd been present long enough to know not to ask questions.  
And the beige ceiling and the sterile white walls circled endlessly around him, and he wondered -  
Would a time come, when he'd be 'healthy', too?..  
  
Or was this all just a dream, too..?  
  
He slept, shut his eyes, and dreamt of the open sea.  
For once, he slept peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one I've wanted to write for awhile.
> 
> Oh? The kid?
> 
> It's nobody. The timeline doesn't match up.  
> You're probably sea-ing things.  
> Or, just write it off as being a 'dream.'
> 
> I also tend to think of Gio and Carmen as being great friends. Giovanni of course doesn't trust that 'shifty guy, A' or the guy who only cares about his machines (B), and thinks they must be corrupting his pal, but... I wonder, maybe it's more accurate to state that they're all encouraging each other? From our perspective, what a wonderful light they're weaving. From those outside the circle, or even in it's orbit...
> 
> And I also feel like Giovanni is probably v. good and patient with kids. Despite being a laid-back guy, he's also a little observant?  
> Perhaps that's just me.


End file.
